


Not What She Wished For

by Invader_Sam



Category: How the Grinch Stole Christmas! - Dr. Seuss, The Grinch (2018)
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, First Dates, First Kiss, Gen, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invader_Sam/pseuds/Invader_Sam
Summary: Cindy Lou had gone to great lengths to ask Santa for something to make her mom happy, and she'd gotten her wish, just not in the way she'd expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first time posting here and I totally didn't expect it to be a Grinch fic, but after seeing the movie, I was just so struck by the new characterization and all the narrative possibilities I just had to see what I could do with it. This might be a one-shot, or it might be a Chapter 1. We'll see where the inspiration takes me.
> 
> Some of the in-universe details are just headcanon, things that weren't mentioned in the film.
> 
> Also, I don't have a beta reader, so forgive me for any typos. I try to read and reread, but I almost always miss something.

It wasn't exactly what she'd wished for. Not by a long shot. But, to be fair, she hadn't been very specific and she _hadn't_ actually gotten the message to the man in red. So the fact that he – or the universe writ large – had answered at all was something to be thankful for. Still, being thankful and not being just a little perplexed at having The Grinch himself currently half-hidden in the cabinet beneath her kitchen sink were two entirely different things. From her seat at the table, homework half-finished and forgotten, Cindy Lou watched him work. He was lying on his back on her skateboard, one green knee bent as his mutterings drifted out, echo-y from bouncing off the pipes. “You ok in there?”

The sound of metal clanging against a skull and a bitten off curse preceded the answer to her question. “Yes, Cindy. Just fine.” A pause, another mumbled word she wasn't allowed to say. “Whoever installed this thing was an amateur.”

Her brow furrowed, button nose crinkling. “ _That_ would be my Dad.”

From the darkness under the sink, Grinch cringed. “...Oh,” was all he managed. There he went again, putting his foot in his mouth, giving these people yet another reason to run him back out of town. For what had to have been the millionth time, he wondered why they hadn't already. Sure, he was doing his damnedest to make himself useful, but they'd run out of things to fix eventually and then what? He raised his wrench back up to the corroded bolt he'd been trying to loosen and forced his tongue to work again. “S-sorry.”

Cindy pushed her history book aside and slid down from the table. “S'ok.” She slipped her hands into the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt. March wasn't quite ready to let go of Winter yet. Quietly she crossed to the sink, sitting herself down beside his legs, back against the cabinet. “He wrote music – not very good at fixin' stuff.” She let herself smile. “Mom said she used to have to follow him around, re-fixin' everything he touched.”

That got a chuckle out of the green-furred one. “A musician, huh?”

“Yeah.” Cindy's smile broadened, hugging her knees. “Like, for commercials. He wrote the jingle for Farfingle's Department Store.”

Grinch had to choke back a gag as the all-too-familiar ear-worm began playing in his head. It would be there the rest of the night and probably most of tomorrow too. “Seriously? They play that year-round. They must be stiffing you on the royalties – why else are you still living with faulty plumbing?”

“Royalties?” Cindy cocked her head to one side, wracking her brain for the definition to the unfamiliar word.

“Yeah, you know, money. Every time they blast that song on the radio, or TV- and they do it at _least_ a dozen times a day - they should be cutting you a check. Maybe somebody needs to go over there and–” But his thought was cut short as the bolt finally came loose and he was suddenly blasted with a spray of cold water as the built-up pressure was released. Spluttering and coughing, he pushed against the back wall with one hand and propelled himself out of the cabinet with more force than he'd meant. The skateboard shot across the room, with him still on board, crashed against a row of chair legs, and spun three times across the floor before it finally threw him off, leaving him dizzy and dripping on the linoleum.

Alarmed (and trying not to laugh), Cindy crawled over closer. “Geez, Mister, you all right?” He put up a hand, coughed again, and then shook the water out of his fur, not unlike how his dog might have done. He had more than she did, more than anyone else she knew. She'd read up on viridity, the condition that made him green, in the local library not long after he'd come to Christmas dinner. It was super rare, and Whos who had it didn't usually live very long. She'd brought the book to her mother, sometime around New Years. Mom had said that it might have been why no one had been willing to adopt him all those years ago, why he'd been given up in the first place.

_“But that's so selfish!” She'd been righteously incensed on his behalf._

_“Whos can be that way sometimes,” her mother had conceded, looking just a little sad. “Not everyone's as strong as you are, cupcake. If you think someone's going to leave you, and that it will hurt when they do, it might feel easier to not let them into your life in the first place.”_

That thought had settled heavily in Cindy Lou's stomach, refused to leave her even now, months later. With a puddle on the kitchen floor and skateboard scuff marks beneath it, she watched her new friend wipe water from his eyes and turn a sheepish smile her way. “Found the problem,” he said weakly.

She giggled. “More like it found you.”

“Yeah, more like.” He ran one long-fingered hand over the top of his head, stretched out a crick in his neck. “Should probably clean this up before your mom gets home.” That was all the poor woman needed, to come home to the place in worse shape than she'd left it.

Cindy nodded and got to her feet, hurrying off to grab towels from the linen closet. The one downside of Mom switching from third to second shift was that messes no longer had until morning to disappear. There were plenty of upsides though. She now got to be there (and awake!) when Cindy left for school, got to spend her mornings with the twins at 'mommy-and-me' classes they seemed to love, and usually had time and energy to make dinner ahead of time. No offense to Mrs. Marpole, but not all food needs to be boiled.

There was another reason Mrs. Marpole's dinners had been few and far between as well. Some nights, like this one, it wasn't Mrs. Marpole who greeted her at the door after school. It had started out as a 'one time thing' because Mrs. Marpole's sister threw out her back and 'I don't do babies' but he'd been there already installing a dumbwaiter from her loft to the laundry room and no one else was available on short notice. By this point it had become once a week, at least.

Cindy loved these nights. She always got to stay up way too late, and he'd help with homework if he wasn't working on something. Plus, she'd discovered he had a ridiculous sweet tooth, so it never took any convincing to have seconds, sometimes even thirds of dessert after the twins were in bed.

Truthfully, she secretly hoped more of Mrs. Marpole's relatives would injure themselves (not too seriously, of course) so she could have more nights like this one.

She returned to the kitchen beaming. “Think this'll be enough?”

Crouched at the open cabinet, Grinch turned away from surveying the damage and smirked. The pile of towels was so tall he could barely see the bows in her braids above it. “Yeah, I think that's good.” He stood and crossed the room to grab the top few, tossing them down onto the wet floor. “Least I remembered to shut the main off, or we'd be boating out of here tonight.”

The girl joined him, spreading the fluffy cotton in a circle around her feet. “That'd sure be an adventure.”

He glanced down at her, half-smiling. She was so young (about the age he'd been when he'd run to the mountains) and she'd lost so much, yet she always seemed to find the bright side of things, the silver linings he'd always missed growing up. He was a survivor, to be sure, but she was resilient, rock-steady in a way he'd never felt, not even now. Some of that had to come from her mother.

Talk about resilient. Mrs. Who...Donna...was he allowed to call her that? Even in inner monologue that seemed too familiar, too presumptuous. Another sweet soul who had lost, and sacrificed, and worked so hard, yet was never too tired to send a smile his way. And what a smile it was. He was surprised the snow didn't just melt around her when she...What had he been doing again?

Cindy had run out of towels and looked to him for direction, and found him sporting a dopey grin that she'd noticed a few times before. Usually when Mom was around. “What's with that face?” she asked, poking his green-furred stomach.

“Hmmwha?” He shook his head, brought the room back into focus. “What face?”

“The one you were just making.” She mimicked his expression, exaggerating for effect. “Like you were in la-la land. What were you thinking about?”

“No one! N-nothing,” he stammered. Had the heat kicked on all of a sudden? “Go get the laundry basket, will you?” One hand on her head, he steered her back towards the stairs.

“Ok, ok.” She left the room, albeit slowly. It was hard to tell under all that green fur, but she could've sworn his face had turned red just then.

Alone once more, Grinch let out a sigh. Had to be more careful. Too many slips like that and...well, actually he had no earthly idea what could happen. He'd never been in this situation before, whatever this was. He probably had a book with the answers somewhere up in his cave, but thus far he'd been too embarrassed to go looking for it. The downside of teaching your dog to read, you had to deal with their judging your choice of reading material. A problem for another day, though. Right now he had to stay focused. Don-Mrs. Who would be home from her shift in– He darted a glance over at the clock on the wall. “Eleven o'clock?!”

From the top of the stairs, dragging the laundry basket behind her, Cindy Lou was surprised to see Grinch appear at the bottom, eyes wide. “Bed!” he hissed.

“What?”

“You heard me.” He met her halfway, grabbed the plastic bin. “Bed. Now.”

“At least let me–”

“Nuh-uh.” He shook his head, and then picked her up by her hood and spun her so she was facing the other direction. “I'll deal with the mess. You just go make it look like you've been asleep for the last two hours.”

“Ohhhh. Geez, it's that late already?” She started back up the stairs. “Guess you'll have to come back tomorrow to finish the sink.” She twisted halfway around, grinning. “Or you could just sleep over.”

He'd already turned to head back down but he froze mid-step. “I...don't think that's a good idea.”

“Mom wouldn't mind, really,” she insisted, creeping back towards him. “She likes you. I bet if you pretended to be asleep on the couch, she'd just throw a blanket on and leave you there. She wouldn't make you go home. C'mon!” She reached out to grab his hand and he recoiled.

“N-no!” He barked, more sharply than he'd wanted to and instantly regretted it as he watched her face crumble. “Cind, please, not tonight, ok?” He reached out, then hesitated, letting his hand fall to his side. “Just...not tonight.”

She nodded, tried for his hand again and was happy to find he didn't pull away. “Ok. G'night, Mister Grinch.”

Relief flooding his chest (he hadn't ruined anything!), he squeezed her hand. “See ya tomorrow, kid.” He watched her turn and trot back up the stairs, seemingly still full of energy despite the late hour. Maybe that second helping of ice cream had been a mistake. With a shrug, he held the laundry basket against his hip and headed back downstairs.

He managed to finish mopping up the mess, get all of the wet towels to the washing machine in the basement and was just getting ready to crawl back under the sink when he heard the front door open. Chest suddenly tight, he stood, but then that seemed too awkward, unnatural, so he leaned back against the counter. But that felt forced, like he was trying too hard. Damn it, he was fifty-three years old and, granted, most whos lived well-past 100, but he was still an adult. Why did he feel like a bumbling adolescent whenever this woman walked through the door? It was patently absurd.

Yet here he was, still trying to figure out how to stand – like an imbecile - when she appeared in the doorway. “Hey there.”

“Hey!” He spun on his heel to face her, hands clasped behind his back for lack of something better to do with them. “H-how was work?”

Donna Jo Who set her bag down on the kitchen table and made a mental note of Cindy's unfinished history homework. “Good, actually. No major emergencies, and no kids. I think flu season is _finally_ over, thank goodness.”

“Oh, yeah, that's...that's a relief.” He'd spent New Year's waylaid by that particular illness. Being a homebody – a hermit, really – had a way of weakening one's immune system. He'd been all but convinced he was on death's door, until she and Cindy had shown up at the cave uninvited. Angels, the both them, armed with hot soup and all manor of other remedies he'd never heard of, flitting about the cave, tending to him. It would have been mortifying if he hadn't been so delusional from the fever. By the time he was well and gathered up the courage to try and thank them, they waved him off, told him it was 'the neighborly thing to do'. He'd been flummoxed, to say the least.

“You're telling me,” she said, rolling her shoulders as she crossed to the stove. “Tea?”

“Ah...n-no, I should probably go.” He turned his eyes to the floor. “Also the water's turned off.”

“Huh?” Teakettle in hand, a look of dismay washed across her face and his stomach hurt knowing he'd caused it. “Shoot, I thought I sent the check in last week...”

“Oh! No, no, no, I turned it off,” he said hurriedly. Admitting his own failure was far preferable to letting her think the fault lay with her. “It was, I dunno, making this noise–”

Her smile returned, much to his relief. “Like an angry cat?”

“Yes! Cindy said it'd been doing that for a while, so I thought I'd take a look, but I, ah, didn't quite finish the job.”

She set the kettle back on the stove. “Well, I think we can make it to morning without it, but I'm going to need to shower before work tomorrow.”

An image – of steam and fogged mirrors among _other_ things – flashed through his mind and he had to fake a cough, if only to turn away from her. “R-right, right, of course,” he stammered. “I can be back first thing in the morning.”

“Mmm.” She nodded, leaned back against the counter as if it were the most natural and easy thing to do. “Sure, yeah, that's fine. Seems an awfully long way to go just for a couple of hours.”

He'd already been backing away towards the door, but for the second time that night he froze, this time to gape at Donna. “Huh?”

With one smooth, casual move she pulled her headband off of her head, shook out her blonde hair. “Just that it's quite a hike up that mountain in the middle of the night. Where's Max?”

The question forced his brain to stop spinning out of control and he straightened up. “A-at Bricklebaum's.”

“Well, it would be a little rude to wake the man up, right?” He wouldn't know, all these societal rules were still very new, but if she said so it was probably legit. She was drawing closer now and his blood was pounding in his ears. “Why don't I make up the couch? You can go get Max in the morning and then finish with the sink.”

He could've touched her, if his arms hadn't turned to lead at his sides, she was so close now. With effort, he forced his tongue to cooperate. “I w-wouldn't want to impose...”

Her hand was on his shoulder now and she was smiling in that snow-melting way. “It's no big deal. Seriously, you'll actually be doing me a favor. The boys are _obsessed_ with Max.” Her words tinged with laughter, genuine, throaty in a way that made his knees shake. “They'll be occupied all morning – I'll actually get something done around the house!”

His gaze locked with hers and all he managed to say was, “Well, I guess if you insist...”

“I do.” She squeezed his arm, just a bit, and then released him. “Lemme go grab a spare pillow and blanket.”

And with that, she was gone, out of the room, leaving him dazed. What had he just agreed to? Had she really just asked him...? No, no this was just a mutually-beneficial business arrangement. He shouldn't read anything into it. Still... He reached up, touched his arm where her hand had been.

He barely had time to wipe that damn dopey grin off his face before she returned to the kitchen. “C'mon,” she said, nodding towards the living room. Wordlessly he followed, watched as she arranged things with care. “It's old.” She patted the couch. “But I think that just makes it more comfy.”

She smiled at him again and this time, in the relative darkness he let himself smile back. “I'm sure.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you. Seriously, Mrs. Wh–”

Suddenly her index finger was on his lips. “Ah-ah. It's Donna, please.” As he stood, completely rigid, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Grinch.”

From the top of the stairs, Cindy Lou slapped a hand over her mouth so she wouldn't squeal and give herself away. Her mother moved towards the stairs and she scrambled, quiet as a mouse, back to her bedroom. Yep, definitely _not_ what she'd wished for, but she certainly wasn't complaining.

Finally alone, Grinch sank onto the couch, one hand on his cheek. This, whatever this was, didn't seem like just 'neighborly' anymore. He _really_ had to find that book in his library. For now though, maybe getting some rest was actually a good idea. The rest could wait until morning.

 ~Fin~ 

(for now)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bricklebaum proves to be the best wing man a Grinch could hope for.

He was being watched, of that he was sure. Eyes still shut, Grinch could tell just from the niggling sense of dread that made the fur on the back of his neck stand on end. Max usually waited until he rang the bell...but wait, Max was still at Bricklebaum's. Which meant that he– His eyes shot open in a panic, only to find Cindy Lou's nose inches from his own. He had absolutely no control over the shriek that escaped his lips nor the spastic flurry of motion as he sat up sharply, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

Cindy, seemingly unfazed, just beamed up at him. “I thought you said you weren't gonna sleep over?”

Heart still hammering in his chest (these Who women had some seriously troublesome ideas about boundaries), he frowned. “It wasn't my idea. Your mother insisted.”

“I kinda figured that.” She put her hands on the couch and he barely had enough time to scoot out of the way before she had clambered up next him him. “So are you gonna hang out all day?”

Blearily he glanced at the front window, which barely had any pink light peeking out from behind the curtains. It was undoubtedly _too early_ to be awake, much less this chipper. He didn't even try to stifle the yawn that came out over his words. “Probably not. Just until I finish with the sink.”

“Aww, man.” The little blonde (braids undone, still in her pink pajamas) let out a sigh, slumping over so she was draped across his lap. “That stinks.”

He stiffened. Seriously, boundaries! Was it too much to ask to get a shot of caffeine before being asked to submit to...to... _cuddling_?? It was also much too early to be having existential musings about how he'd come to this point in his life and why his own neurosis wouldn't just let him be happy about it. Hadn't this, _exactly_ this – physical contact, belonging – been what he'd been craving for the last half-a-century? Why did actually getting what he wanted make every muscle in his body twitch, desperate to run to the mountains all over again? He let his head fall back against the top of the couch cushions, echoing her sigh. “Yep...”

The silence settled over them and he shut his eyes, willing his heartbeat to return to its normal rate. This was nice, honestly. Everything was quiet, and it actually wasn't _that_ much different having a child across his legs instead of a dog. The warmth was the same, and she wasn't heavy or anything. It was his own fault he couldn't just relax and enjoy it. For the third or fourth time in less than 24 hours, he was stuck not knowing what to do with his hands. Slowly, cautiously, he let one creep out from the covers and settle on top of her head. That, too, wasn't much different – but was it appropriate to pet a child? Somehow he thought not, but Cindy didn't push him away. Instead, she rolled over onto her back, her smile back in place. “You've never been here in the morning.”

“Nope.”

“Gonna warn ya – it's gonna get crazy pretty soon.”

“Oh?”

“Yep, just as soon as–” She raised a hand and pointed at the ceiling as one (or both) of her brothers cried out from their crib, announcing to the whole house (and probably the whole block) that they were awake.

With a wince, Grinch bit his tongue to keep from swearing. He wasn't always good at censoring himself (being alone, it had never been an issue), but he was trying. “Oh goody. The snot-monsters are up.”

Cindy giggled, sitting up. “Wanna come help me grab 'em?”

His thick brows furrowed. “Not particularly, no.” Putting them to bed was a headache and a half; he couldn't imagine rousing them would be any more enjoyable.

“Oh, c'mon.” The eight-year-old tugged on his blanket. “It would make Mom _really_ happy.”

Her smile had turned mischievous in a way that gave him pause. What was she implying? Had he been more obvious than he'd thought or– His eyebrows shot up. Had she seen the kiss last night? _'Oh god...'_ Now he _really_ was itching to run for the mountains. “No, I'll leave that to you – you're the expert at that.” He pushed the blanket off and stood.

“Then where're you going?” She cocked her head at him.

Purposefully he strode to the coat rack by the front door and retrieved his scarf. “I've gotta go save Max from Mabel. And grab a cup of coffee.” _'A_ _BIG cup_ _of coffee.'_ “I'll be back.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Cindy nodded. “Kay.” Then she turned and headed back upstairs as one of her brother's let out another yowl.

Shuddering, Grinch was more than happy to brave to cold air of the morning and avoid what he had no doubt was a chaotic scene he just wasn't prepared to deal with. Plus, a little time to himself would let him clear his head, come up with some semblance of a plan as to how to proceed. Feet crunching on the frost-covered ground, he headed slowly down the street, hands clasped behind his back.

The kiss – chaste as it may have been – was out there now, in the universe, with at least one witness apparently. So that meant he couldn't just pretend it hadn't happened and carry on with business -as-usual. But how was he supposed to know what it meant? Mrs. Wh-Donna, she'd said Donna was ok – was wonderful, perfect, really, as far as he was concerned, but she was hard to read. She was kind and sweet and affectionate to nearly everyone he'd seen her interact with. So what if it was just her being, well, her? He'd look like a fool trying to pursue something that existed only in his imagination.

But what if it was _wasn't_ that? If she'd meant it as more and he did nothing...he'd throw himself from the top of Mt. Crumpet knowing he'd blown his chance out of cowardice and ignorance. How in the hell was he supposed to tell which it was???

The sun was still cresting over the mountain range, casting elongated shadows across the neighborhood. He paused in a dark spot, watched his breath rise up past his nose. He was going to give himself an ulcer worrying about this. But what else could he do? It's not like he had anyone to talk to about it.

A familiar barking reached his ears and he glanced up, surprised to see his best – and once _only_ – friend bounding towards him. “Max?” He crouched down as the mutt reached him, front paws on his chest and tail wagging. “What're you doing out here?”

“Hey, buddy!” From around the corner, Phineas Bricklebaum appeared, Mabel on a leash beside him and a second leash – with Max's collar still attached – in the opposite hand. “We were just on our way to come find you! Your little guy does _not_ like the leash, lemme tell you what.”

Grinch chuckled, gave his dog a scratch behind the ears. “Yeah, no, we've never really needed one before. He didn't give you any other trouble, did he?”

“Nah, you know he's always good.” The roly poly Who stopped as they drew nearer. “Wasn't expecting to bump into you out here though. You must've got up before the sun to get down the mountain already.”

“Huh? Oh, no, I didn't go home last–” Grinch stopped himself, eyes wide.

“Ohhhh?” The gleam in the shorter man's eyes was impossible to miss.

Grinch got to his feet quickly, straightening out his scarf. “Now before you go getting any ideas–”

“You spend the night at Donna's?!”

“No! I mean, technically, yes, but–”

But Bricklebaum was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, his grin spreading wider through his thick beard. “Oh ho ho ho, you _dog_! That's my best friend right there! Woo!”

“N-no! Stop it, will you?” Suddenly sweating despite the still-frigid temperature, Grinch held out a hand, palm up, while pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. “ _Nothing_ happened, all right? It was late, I slept on the couch, end of story.”

The smaller Who stopped dancing in place, instead taking a step closer to scrutinize the other. “If that's the end of the story, then how come you're looking like Santa, all rosy-cheeked and whatnot?”

“I...” Grinch blinked. Damn it, all this extra fur was useless if it couldn't even hide... He glanced down at his feet, where Max was gazing expectantly up at him, and he sighed. “Can we at least...go get coffee? I find it much easier if I don't have to look at you.”

The other didn't miss a beat, turning on his heel and heading in the direction of town. “You got it, buddy. C'mon, girl.” A quick flick of the leash and Mabel was trotting along side him.

They walked, two men and their dogs, for a block or two, before Grinch was able to get his tongue to cooperate again. “She...” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, and then stopped. He felt like he was on fire from the neck up. He couldn't do this. He dared a glance at the Who who had declared himself his best friend and was surprised to find that he was keeping his eyes straight ahead, seemingly occupied with waving to the scant few neighbors that were also out this early.

And then a lump formed in the back of his throat. What on earth had he done to deserve this man's kindness? For as nosy and overbearing and frustrating as he could be, here he was, happy to be completely accepting of Grinch's ridiculous demands. “She kissed me,” he blurted out at last.

“Oh yeah?” Eyes still on the road, Bricklebaum asked the question as if he were commenting on the weather.

“Yeah.” He could see the houses giving way to storefronts down the street, had to hurry and get this out before there were too many people around. “J-just on the cheek, though. So, I...I don't know, it probably wasn't anything. I shouldn't have even brought it up. Stupid.” He shook his head.

“And lemme guess, you hightailed it outta there before she was even awake this morning, right?”

“W-well, I...yes. I did exactly that. Again – stupid.”

“Nah.” They paused at the first traffic light, waiting for the 'WALK' signal, even though there were no cars coming in any direction. “You're going back though, right?”

“Kind of have to.” The light changed and they continued moving. “I broke her kitchen sink. Well, didn't break it, really, just didn't completely fix it yet.”

Bricklebaum chuckled at that. “There ya go, then. Bring her back coffee – and a danish – that woman _loves_ danishes – and then talk to her while you finish fixin' the sink. Easy. Done.”

Done? Easy? If only that were so. They had arrived at the Whobucks (one of three on this street alone), and Grinch pushed the front door open, holding it so the others could go ahead of him. “Danishes, huh?”

“Absolutely.” The shorter man stopped at the back of the long line (this was apparently where everyone was instead of out on the streets), told Mabel to heel. Max made a quick lap around the perimeter, returning shortly to sit at Grinch's feet. “Strawberry's outta season, so I'd go with chocolate. Can't go wrong with chocolate.”

Grinch couldn't argue with that. “Do you, ah, know how she likes her coffee?”

“Black.”

“Seriously?” He almost gagged at the thought.

“Would I lie to you?”

“No.”

“Then there you go.”

“Huh.” Grinch found himself feeling just a tiny bit better. She wasn't perfect – she was weird, like him. In a different way, of course (his coffee order was so long the baristas always had trouble writing it on the cup), but still. It helped, being able to think about her as a person. He'd apparently let this...this crush (god, couldn't there be a less juvenile word for it?) go unchecked for too long. “So, in your 'easy-done' scenario, how exactly is this supposed to go?”

“Hmm?” Bricklebaum kept his eyes on the menu above the counter. “Oh! Sure, see, you just get back to fixin' and then you can talk to her without lookin' at her – like now. And you ask her if she ever gets a night off work. She does, it's Mondays, by the way. And then you suggest, all casual-like, that maybe she'd like to get away from the kids some Monday.”

“That's it, huh?” Grinch raised one thick eyebrow.

“Pretty much. Oh, but ya gotta make sure she knows you're not just offering to babysit. Cuz while that's been earnin' ya brownie points up and down the block, that's not exactly what we're going for here.”

“R-right.” That was a _really_ good tip. Knowing his absolute ineptitude at speaking when she was in the room, that worst-case scenario was guaranteed to have been the result without the warning. “And...” He swallowed thickly. “And what if she says no?”

The shorter man turned at last to make eye-contact, smirking. “You kidding? Even if she _wasn't_ into you – which she definitely is – she's never gonna turn down a kid-free night.”

“Well, I suppose that's tr– wait, what??” Grinch's volume and pitch had shot up and he cleared his throat, doing his best to not notice that a few other patrons had turned their way. Ducking his head low, he hissed. “What's that supposed to mean??”

Bricklebaum shrugged. “Just that I've known the woman since middle school, and I haven't had a conversation with her in the last three months where you _didn't_ come up.” Mabel was getting antsy at his feet and he reached into his pants pocket, extracting a treat to pacify her. Max scurried over closer and was rewarded as well, with a treat and a scratch under his chin.

“Oh, stop it.” The taller one straightened up, folding his arms across his chest.

“Cross my heart.” He made the motion for good measure.

“W-well that doesn't mean anything.” He could feel eyes on him now and his fur was starting to bristle. “I'm a novelty. The green freak who lives in a cave.”

“Hey now.” The bearded Who left the dogs to their snacks and got to his feet. “Don't go all dark and broody on me. Nobody says that.”

“Yeah, but they think it.” Grinch turned his scowl towards a pair of college co-eds who hadn't been hiding their gawking well and sent them scurrying out of the shop.

Bricklebaum sighed as he watched them go. “Yeah...maybe. Some. But not her. You should know that by now.”

“I don't know _anything_ anymore.” Grinch let his hands fall back to his sides. “Least of all when it comes to her.”

They were almost at the counter now. The shorter man looped Mabel's leash around his elbow and went searching for his wallet. “Well, you know this much for sure: she asked you to stay, she kissed you, and she's going to do it again when you show back up with that danish right there. Mm-mmm!”

The green one let himself chuckle, his eyes roving the display case of baked goods. There was no way he was going back with just one – especially if his best friend was treating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had more! I actually have quite a bit more tumbling around in my head (up to and including an eventual proposal), so please, keep encouraging me to write more! I haven't felt this motivated/inspired in quite a while!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a question is asked.

“C'mon, Bean, just one bite.”

In response to the spoon being waved in his face, the one-year-old Who blew a raspberry and smacked it away with a flailing arm.

Cindy Lou let out an exasperated sigh. “Mooo _oooom_ , he won't eat!”

“Then don't force it, Cind.” Donna called out across the house, from the living room where she was currently wrestling Buster back into his pajamas after a diaper change. “He won't starve. He'll eat when he's hungry.”

The girl glanced down at the bowl of baby oatmeal she was holding and, honestly, she couldn't blame her brother. It was nasty looking. She set it back on the kitchen table. “Don't worry, bud. When you get teeth, you get to have the good stuff.” Practically crawling across the table, she snagged her own cereal box (Sugar Coated Sugar Bombs) and brandished it as if it were a priceless work of art she was auctioning off.

Eyes and smile wide, her brother reached for it, but was halted by the straps of his high chair.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Cindy drew the box close to her chest. “Don't get ahead of yourself.”

Bean stuck his lower lip out, but his tantrum was interrupted by his mother depositing his twin back in the seat beside him. In a whirl of motion she set two sippy cups down on the tray and watched with satisfaction as they both began gulping down milk. “Least it's got vitamins,” she said with a shrug.

Her daughter mimicked the shrug. “If you say so. D'you want some of mine?” She offered out the cereal box.

Donna laughed, leaning back against the counter. “No thanks, honey. I think I'll wait until I can make some cof–” She was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and a happy dog barking.

Cindy's whole face lit up and she slid off of her chair. “They're back!”

“Give him a minute, will you?” Donna called, to no avail, but she smiled as she heard her daughter's giggles mix in with the dog barks. A moment later Grinch appeared in the doorway, looking just a touch frazzled, coffee caddy balanced in one hand and a white paper bag in the other. “Well good morning.”

He glanced over, as if he hadn't expected her to be there, and she felt a twinge of guilt as his expression shifted, green eyes darting to the floor, cheeks just slightly pink beneath green fur. Had she embarrassed him last night? She had thought she'd been alright, with a baby-step like that, but he'd been alone for so long, maybe it was too much. She'd been trying to be careful, give him the space he clearly needed, but it was getting harder and harder not to act on impulses like that good night kiss. Ever since he'd come to Christmas dinner she'd been charmed. He'd been so eager to be helpful and his toast had been so sweet and sincere. She'd hoped they'd see him more often than before, and she'd gotten her wish and then some.

And it wasn't just the gadgets around the house, though those were wonderful (the diaper disposal system alone was worth its weight in gold). It was him, just him, really. Cindy had made no effort to hide how taken she was with him and it rapidly became obvious to Donna that the affection was mutual. Despite how uneasy it still plainly made him, he always made time for her, listening to her stories, helping her with homework, talking to her with a respect most adults wouldn't bother with. It was ceaselessly endearing.

She pushed off the counter, taking a few steps closer. “So you return bearing gifts, I see.”

“Huh? Oh! Oh, yes, sorry, yes, um,” he stammered, setting everything down on the table (well out of reach of sticky grabby baby hands). “Figured since you couldn't _make_ coffee, I'd, um, yeah.”

Leaning in closer she checked the writing on the cups and then plucked the one labeled 'black' from the caddy. She held it up to her nose and inhaled, smiling on the exhale. “Mmmm, and what have we got here...” With her free hand she opened the bag, her smile broadening as she turned it towards him. “You're seriously spoiling us, you know that, right?”

He almost gave Bricklebaum the credit, then remembered he'd been explicitly told not to. “Figured it was the least I could do,” he muttered, averting his gaze again as he retrieved his own cup.

Donna sat herself down at the table, calling out. “Cindy! Hope you saved room for breakfast dessert!”

“Always!” The little blonde bounded into the kitchen with Max at her heels. Both of them took seats at the table. Max seemed a little more sentient than most dogs, Cindy had declared not long after their first meeting, and so he'd been given permission to eat with the family. “Whad'ja bring us, Mister Grinch?”

“O-oh, a little of everything.” As he took a welcome sip of his latte, he watched Donna hook one foot around the leg of the last empty chair and pull it out from the table. She locked eyes with him and nodded at it. Palms sweating, he took the offered seat, but still hung back, watching the women dig through the bag together.

“Jackpot!” Cindy produced a cinnamon roll the size of her head from the bag.

Donna had to fight not to spit-take her coffee. “Share that with your brothers,” she said, coughing just a little.

“Man...” But the girl did as she was told, tearing off hunks and setting them on the tray where they were instantly set upon by the twins. She took a bite for herself and then went hunting again. “Oh, Mom! This must be for you.”

Donna plucked a napkin from the holder on the table and set the chocolate danish down on it. “My favorite.” She turned a smile towards Grinch again. “How'd you know?”

The pink in his cheeks darkened and he averted his eyes again. “Lucky guess.”

“Aren't you gonna have some?” Cindy asked.

“Ah...” Truth be told, he scarfed two pastries before leaving the shop and another two on the walk back. His stomach was already protesting, punishing him for giving into the nervous habit. Max had even chided him, nipping at his heels as he'd licked sugar glaze from his fingers, but he wasn't the one who had to deal with all the anxiety. No, Max had a knack for getting people to love him and it mostly hinged on the whole four-legs-wagging-tail thing. Which was really grossly unfair, but then when had life ever been fair? Wait, what had the question been again? Oh right– “N-no, I'm...I'm good.” He forced the words out.

“Well, this was very thoughtful,” Donna said. She took a bite, swallowed and then raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “What do you say, Cindy Lou?”

“Hmm?” The little girl cocked her head, then her eyes widened. “Oh! Fank ooh!” she said, speaking around her mouthful.

Disarmed – just enough to feel a bit of the pressure leave his chest – by her innocent and unintentional charm, Grinch raised his cup just slightly in her direction. “My pleasure.”

Donna watched them both, and her chest gave a little flutter. Across the room on the wall, the clock rang out the time – eight chimes. “Oh shoot – Cind, the bus!”

“Crap on a cracker!”

“Langauge!”

With a rush of wind and chairs scraping on linoleum, both females were up, darting to and from the room in what seemed to be a chaotic-yet-choreographed routine and it was all Grinch could do to watch in wonder. In no time at all Cindy Lou was dressed – in layers – backpack over her shoulder, braids done up, shoes on, half a cinnamon bun hanging from her mouth as she headed for the door. “Bye Mom! Bye boys!” she called over her shoulder. “Bye Max! Bye Mister Grinch! Love you!”

His eyes widened, heat spreading from his chest up to the tip of his tuft. _'...What?'_ He couldn't breathe, his lungs were surely collapsing, maybe the room was too; she couldn't have said – he couldn't have heard–

“Love you too, sweetie!” At the front door, Donna waved her daughter off.

 _'Oh...right.'_ The walls stopped caving in. She'd just mis-ordered her words. She loved her mother and brothers. Of course she did. That was natural. That made sense. With no small amount of mortification he noticed that his right leg had started bouncing in place and he took a quick sip of coffee, as if more caffeine would help.

Across the table, Max gave him a look. “Don't you start,” he hissed before Donna reentered the room. She sank into the chair her daughter had vacated, heaved a sigh of relief. “That's, uh, quite a dance you two have there,” he said, to fill the empty air and push his previous panicked thoughts further to the back of his mind.

Donna let out a soft laugh as she reached out to grab another pastry for the twins to share. “Yeah, we're not the most organized, but we work well under pressure.”

“I saw.” He took another sip. “How in the world did you get her hair braided so fast?”

“Hmm?” She raised an eyebrow. “Her hair – oh! Oh, no no no!” She laughed again. “It's a headband!”

“Wait, seriously??” To be honest, he felt a little betrayed.

“Seriously – she bought it with birthday money – never goes anywhere without it. You thought I...?” Her laughter continued, more quietly now. “Wow, I really must seem like Wonder Woman. Glad I come across as more put-together than I feel.”

He wasn't sure what to feel now, and he was surprised at himself for being so off-put by the new information. “Huh...Well, I guess even Super Mom is allowed to take a shortcut or two.”

“Says the man who built me a dish-washing machine for hand-wash-only dishes,” she said with a smirk that made his heart leap up his throat.

“W-well, I...”

She reached across the table, touched his arm and felt it tense beneath her fingers. “I'm teasing,” she said gently. She'd hoped to feel the muscles relax, but when they stayed taught, she released him. “In all seriousness, I _love_ my dish-washer and the laundry chute and the trash-hauler and lord knows what else you've added to this house.” She watched him, caught the glimpse of a smile behind his coffee cup before she added, “Having you around makes me feel like...like I'm not doing this alone anymore.”

He blinked, turned towards her in astonishment. How could... _she_ felt alone? With a house full of children and neighbors on every side and...and... “Would you like to go to dinner sometime?”

The words were out of his mouth before he'd even started to think them. Petrified, he sat, mentally lambasting himself. That wasn't the plan! That wasn't how he'd been told to do it! What the hell was wrong with him?? And now he'd put her on the spot and oh god this was actually happening and what if he'd ruined everything and damn it he still had to fix the sink and–

“Yeah.” The single word, from her perfect lips, pierced through his spiraling thoughts, brought him back to this place, this small cluttered kitchen he adored, and this moment, this life-changing moment. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hammered this out in about 2 hours, but I'm feeling pretty good about it! A bit shorter, but I think it ends right where it needs to. Upping the rating for a little bit of language.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a new, related question is asked.

_'Now what?'_

Those two words echoed, bounced around his head on a constant loop as he tried to avoid the hardware store clerk. She's said 'yes'. Not 'sure, I guess so'. Not 'let me check my schedule'. 'Yes.' Well, 'yeah' technically but who was going to be a stickler for details at this particular moment? 'Yes.' He'd been so completely unprepared that he'd bolted as quickly as he could, stammering an excuse about needing parts for the sink, and leaving in such a flustered rush that he'd forgotten Max. Which he was now regretting, at least partially. With Max around he never looked like he was talking to himself, even when he was.

It wasn't really an excuse. He _did_ need to replace the corroded parts of the plumbing he'd dislodged last night. Last night...it felt like years ago now. He'd been perfectly content to continue on as they'd been doing, hadn't been jumping at the bit to leap into such spectacularly uncharted territory.

But then that kiss. _She's_ the one who had started them down this path, really. It was her fault for sparking to light the flicker of hope in his heart and now what was he supposed to do? Actually take her to dinner?? He blanched at the prospect. A crowded restaurant full of lights and noise and busybody Whos who most certainly wouldn't give them any privacy. He couldn't think of worse torture. But if it would make her happy...

He sighed, running a hand over the back of his head. He was going to have to go back to the house, fix the sink, talk to her like he wasn't terrified of saying the wrong thing, hammer out details. Maybe she'd save him, ship the kids to their grandparents and they could just stay in instead. _That_ sounded almost nice. At least that way he'd only have to worry about _himself_ ruining it and not the rest of town. But was that really better? With no one else to blame if it all went horribly wrong?

“You ok there?”

He nearly jumped out of his fur. The damn clerk had snuck up on him, or he'd been too lost in his own head to notice the approach. Either way – rude. “Fine,” he snapped, slipping his old mask back into place like a comfortable glove. With Donna and Cindy it was one thing, but in general it was just easier to keep the rest of them at bay.

The clerk, who had to have been about the same age as him, gave him a wary look as he turned and walked away. “If you say so...”

“I do,” he added, squaring his narrow shoulders. Seriously, nosy, busybody, frustratingly friendly – the whole lot of them. Once the man had disappeared down another aisle, Grinch let his shoulders slump again. Maybe he was just kidding himself, thinking he could ever fit in down here.

* * *

“The Grinch slept over?? At your house??” Leaning over the back of his desk chair, Groopert gawked at his best friend.

“Yup.” Cindy Lou beamed. “Brought donuts and stuff from Whobucks for breakfast too.”

Next to her, Axl let out a low whistle. “That's crazy.”

From Cindy's other side, Izzy chimed in, “Crazy cool, you mean.”

Behind her, Ozzy didn't look up from constructing his paper airplane. “Does that mean that, like, The Grinch is gonna be your new dad?”

The other four turned in his direction.

“What?!”

“No fair!”

“Gross!”

“Hey!” Cindy frowned, reaching over to punch Axl on the arm. “Shut up! And I dunno, guys. He's been babysitting a lot lately – and he's really cool, Axl, _not_ gross.”

The tallest of their little group rubbed his arm. “I didn't say _he_ was gross. Just mushy grown-up stuff – ya know...” He mimicked making out by turning his back to the others and hugging himself.

Izzy broke out into giggles, cheeks pink.

Cindy smirked. “Well get ready to barf then, dude.”

Axl whipped back around, eyes wide. “Why?”

“Cuz my mom totally kissed him good night. I _saw_ her.”

The chorus of reactions was loud enough that Ms. Whovier cleared her throat to bring their attention back to the lesson. As they all returned to facing forward, Cindy whispered. “The climber at recess, ok?” The others nodded, and then reluctantly went back to focusing on Whoville history.

* * *

Donna had been upstairs with the twins when Grinch returned to the house, so he got right to work, setting himself up with Cindy's skateboard under the cabinet again. Though muffled from his position, he could hear them as they came back downstairs, with Max, and heard one of the boys protest as Donna apparently gated them off in the living room. “Mr. Grinch is working, I need you to stay safe,” he heard her tell them. “Here.” The distinctive squeak of a rubber ball sounded. “Play with the ball! Max can find it when it rolls behind the couch since object permanence seems to be something you haven't quite gotten the hang of yet.”

He chuckled at that and it must've echoed because when she spoke again she was addressing him. “That's not terrible is it?”

“What? To use big words to mock toddlers? One of my favorite pastimes.”

She laughed and he heard her footsteps approaching, and then suddenly her legs were right next to his and it was a little less easy to breathe. “I know some of the sanctimommies around town would chew me out, but you've gotta stay sane somehow, right?”

“Sounds fair to me.” Bricklebaum was right – not having to look at her made it easier. “What's a 'sanctimommy'??”

“Oh!” She laughed again. He never got tired of hearing it. “It's a...a silly play on words. Some of the stay-at-home moms from the PTA can be, ah, a little judgey?”

“You mean bitchy?” Her laugh came out as a snort that time and his stomach did a legit flip inside of him. Oh, if he could make this woman laugh for the rest of his life he'd be satisfied. It felt downright greedy wanting more, and yet, here he was, wanting it all the same.

“Yeah. Exactly. So anyway...” He felt the cabinet creak and glanced out from his make-shift cave. Her socked feet were dangling over the opening now as she must've hopped up on top of the formica and his mouth went dry. “I love 'em, but it'll be nice to get away to do something that's _not_ work for once. I've got Monday nights off this rotation. Does that work for you?”

He paused in his work. She'd brought it up. He hadn't hallucinated that 'yeah' before. This was happening. Holding heavy metal tools was a really unfortunate time for your palms to start sweating. “Uh, y-yeah. Whatever works for you.” He set the wrench down, wiped his hand on his stomach and then picked it up again. “D-do you, um, I mean, I-I don't really know what's good in town...”

“Hmm...me neither, to be honest. We never eat anything but kiddie-catered fast food anymore.” She paused and he tried to get back to work as he waited. But then again, wrapping things up meant having to leave the relative safety of the cabinet. “I could ask around at work – some of the younger girls are sure to know what's hot, though...” Her laughter bubbled up again. “I dunno if bumping and grinding under strobe lights is really your cup of tea.”

He almost dropped the wrench on himself but managed to shift out of the way just in time, though it made a reverberating _clang_ as it hit the ground.

“Are you ok?”

“Oh yeah,” he choked out, picking it up again. “Just slipped. Um...yeah, no, never, um, been much for that scene.” The mental images alone were giving him heart palpations. “Or anything that qualifies as a 'scene' really...”

“Somehow I figured that.” She didn't sound disappointed, or judgmental when she said it, for which he was grateful. “What about your place?”

“M-m-m-my...?”

“I've never really seen it – back when you were sick we were all pretty preoccupied – and it certainly doesn't qualify as a 'scene', right?”

“N-no,” he admitted, giving the bolt he'd been putting in place one last tug with the wrench. No one, _no one_ had ever been invited to his cave. _**No one**_. And she wanted to... “Y-you...you don't want to see – I mean, no place delivers all the way up there, and I...I mean, I do alright, but I wouldn't want to subject you to–”

“I'll cook.”

He pushed out of the cabinet, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the bright morning sunshine. “Really?”

She leaned over, arms folded across her knees, grinning down at him. “If I give you a list and you do the shopping, I'll cook us dinner. How's that sound?”

He stared up at her, blonde hair framing her face like a halo, blue eyes shining – at him! – and he found himself saying, “S-sounds great.”

“Ok then.” She hopped down from the counter, and offered him her hand.

He was so surprised at the gesture that he took it, pushing himself up as she pulled, both of them forgetting about the skateboard. It slipped out from under him, making him lose his balance before he'd even fully stood and he staggered backwards, back hitting the counter and yanking her into his chest simultaneously. The wince of pain was lost almost immediately as he felt her warmth press against him, felt her softness beneath the cotton pullover she was wearing. His throat constricted and his mumbled “Sorry,” came out quavering, squeaking like it hadn't since puberty.

“S'ok.” She looked a touch surprised, but happily so, and she didn't move, which meant he was pinned to the counter. Her eyes were searching his face and he didn't know why and he wanted to ask, but there seemed to be an empty crater where his brain should've been. Desperately he clutched the counter, knuckles white, heart pounding, waiting until at last she spoke again. “So, I didn't ask permission last night and I think I should have, so I'm going to now.” One of her hands settled on his waist and the fur along his spine stood on end. “Can I kiss you?”

He really thought he'd have had more time to prepare for this, seeing as how the fact that it was a possibility at _all_ had only entered his mind less than 24 hours ago. He blinked, mouth hanging open as he begged his tongue to start working again, only to immediately regret when it did because his voice was still cracking. “Y-y-you want to...? But I don't – I mean I-I've never...”

“I know.” Her other hand came down on his hip and a shiver ran through his whole body. “I still want to, though. If it's ok, I mean.”

He swallowed thickly, still gaping at her, and he only managed to nod, almost imperceptibly.

“Ok.”

He caught a quick glimpse of her pink cheeks, her small smile, before her lips were on his and the rest of the world disappeared. It was like nothing he'd ever hoped to experience – soft and warm and wonderful – and he was glad he had such a death-grip on the counter because his knees had started to buckle. He felt her hands slide up his back and he wanted to hold her but he was afraid to move. Then she was pressing more tightly against him, tongue probing his mouth and there was a sudden powerful stirring he'd never felt before and he pulled back, thunderstruck.

She blinked up at him, cheeks still rosy, but her smile somewhat faded. “Is...everything ok?”

With no small amount of embarrassment he realized he was panting. “Uh...I think so?”He still couldn't catch his breath. “Is it...is it supposed to feel like that?”

She cocked her head just slightly. “Like what?”

“Like...” For a long moment, he grappled for the right word, but it was hard to find with his head so foggy and his heart still beating wildly. “...an avalanche,” he finally settled on.

Her fingers splayed across his back, her demure smile returning full force. “Oh yeah, I'd say that's a pretty good sign.”

“Oh...ok.” The words came out sighing, as relief filled his chest. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “Good to know.” She laughed, absolute music to his ears, and he felt something else entirely new settle over his shoulders – courage. Enough of it for him to find himself asking, “Can we...can we do it again?”

In answer, she hooked one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in for another kiss, another avalanche, and this time his knees felt steady enough that he could lift his hands from the counter, let one settle on her hip, the other in her hair. He was just starting to memorize what she tasted like – sweet and salty in the best way – when a wail rang out from the living room and they broke apart.

She whipped her head in the direction of the sound, tips of her hair tickling his nose. “Shoot. Hang on, Buster, Mommy's coming!” She slipped out of his grasp, shooting him a guilty smile. “Sorry...package deal here.” She gestured to herself as she stepped over the baby-gate to tend to her son's needs.

Grinch leaned back against the counter again, sighing, but this time not in exasperation. He brought a hand up to his lips, which were still tingling. “Totally worth it,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously on a role here! I had originally meant for the kiss not to happen until the actual date, but Donna had other ideas, haha.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more tentative steps are taken.

_'Then again...'_ The thought wasn't _really_ sincere, but it was astounding how quickly a diaper blow-out (a term he wished he could've lived his whole life not knowing the definition of) could spoil a good mood. He wasn't the one cleaning it up, of course, but it was enough to make his stomach turn just knowing it had happened and that the woman he'd been blissfully kissing mere moments ago was now upstairs, up to her elbows in the mess.

Seated on the living room floor, back against the couch, Grinch frowned at the remaining twin (he couldn't tell them apart, though Cindy insisted it was easy to do), who was engaged in a primitive game of fetch with Max. The tot would attempt to climb on top of the ball, the ball would shoot out from under him with a squeak, and Max would gleefully gallop off to retrieve it and start the whole process over again. “You two are a real buzzkill, you know that, Junior?”

In response, the baby blew a raspberry and waited for Max to return once again with the ball. The dog dropped it dutifully at the boy's feet, then turned to look at his Master, smiling and yipping in his direction.

“No! No, I don't want to play.” Grinch tucked one knee up, wrapped both long arms around it and rested his chin on his arms. “I _want_ to go back to what I was doing five minutes ago.”

“Arf?” Max cocked his head.

“What was I–?” The lone English-speaker in the room suddenly felt his cheeks grow warm. “N-nevermind what I was doing.”

But his loyal companion's curiosity was now piqued and the mutt scurried over closer, sniffing up one side and then the other. As his nose drew closer to the Grinch's face, his brown eyes lit up and he yipped again, wagging his tail.

Grinch straightened up, eyebrows raised. “How can you–?”

“Arf! Arf!”

“L-lilacs?? I don't–” He put a hand, the one that had been in her hair, up to his nose. Sure enough, the scent of lilacs filled his nostrils and for a moment he forgot his bad mood, recent memories settling at the forefront of his mind. The sound of giggling reached his ears and with horror he realized it was coming from _him._ He clapped the hand over his mouth, whole face burning. “Damn it, what's the matter with me?”

Max whined in response.

“In lo–? Stop it, Max, you're getting _way_ ahead of yourself,” Grinch chided. But Max might not have been the only one.

Beside him, the non-blow-out twin crawled up, curious now that his game had ended. The green-furred one regarded him coolly. “Package deal, huh?” With trepidation, he watched as the tot latched onto his leg fur (he held in the curse of pain) and hoisted himself up to a standing position. “Cindy's one thing,” he said, grimacing slightly (those tiny fingers sure held on tight!). “But you two...” He tilted his head, considering the boy. The buck-teeth were eerily familiar. Lips shut tight, he ran his tongue over his own. Maybe their father had had... Did that mean Donna had a, what was the word, a type? He couldn't recall seeing any photographs of the late Mr. Who around the house, but he also hadn't been looking.

Did he want to go looking? That was opening a whole new can of worms right there. He was already the poster child for self-doubt and second-guessing himself. Did he really want to know more about the man he was trying to replace? Well, not replace, per say, that sounded wrong, cruel. And that was the last thing he wanted to be anymore. But what _was_ he trying to do, exactly?

He really hadn't given it much thought before now. He'd been attracted to Donna since, well probably since Christmas, but he'd naturally assumed it was destined to be unrequited and so he'd tamped it down, best he could. It had seemed better, before, to just be thankful to be in their lives at all. But now she was just...just kissing him out of the blue – and asking permission! His heart gave a little leap up his throat. She knew he wasn't used to being touched – he still flinched at most unexpected contact – and she took it into consideration! Took his feelings, _his_ feelings, into consideration. Like he was important. Like he mattered. Truthfully, that was a little overwhelming to think about. He mattered. To _her_. _Her,_ who smelled like lilacs and tasted like salted caramel, whose laugh was a salve to all the sore places in his soul –

\- who was coming back down the stairs now.

“Aww, look at you guys getting along so well.”

“Huh?” He tried to sit up, but found he couldn't. He'd been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't even noticed that the boy had crawled into his lap, was playing with the longer fur around his collar bone and shoulders. “O-oh, y-yeah,” he stammered, trying to will away his sudden unease. Carefully, he put both hands around the boy's middle and set him back on the floor, where he immediately moved to climb on top of Max, who was much more receptive. “Everything, um, all good?” he asked her, and then regretting bringing it up as his stomach turned again.

“Yep, all clean.” Donna set Buster down, letting him crawl back to his brother and the dog, and then sat on the floor next to the Grinch. “I know potty training's not going to be fun, but I'll be _so_ glad when I don't have to buy diapers anymore.”

“I, uh, I bet,” he said lamely, setting his hands in his lap. Now that they'd...done what they'd done (with her next to him, just thinking about it was making him sweat a little), he had even _less_ idea how he was supposed to act around her. He wrung his hands, twisting and tugging on his fingers painfully, though he barely noticed. “H-h-h-how long before they start, you know, being people?”

She snorted in laughter. “Guess that depends on how you define 'being people'.”

He dared a glance her way, caught her teasing smirk and turned his eyes away again, cheeks hot. “S-sorry,” he stammered. “I mean, like, like talking and the...the whole...” He waved one hand vaguely in the twins' direction. “...potty thing.”

“Ahh.” She nodded. “When are they gonna be less like messy, needy babies and more like Cindy, you mean.”

“Exactly,” the bit of relief he felt at her understanding helped calm his stutter. “Not that they're not...um, cute? I guess? But...”

“They're kind of hard to relate to at this age,” she said. “Especially since they're not yours.”

He blinked. “It would...feel different, if they were?”

“Well, I can't say for sure, 100%.” She criss-crossed her legs, hands on her ankles. “But, yeah, maybe. It also probably would help if you'd grown up around–” She stopped herself short, eyes wide. “Oh my god, that was a horrible thing to say, I'm so sorry!” Instinctively, her hand went to his arm.

He looked at it, feeling just a little bit numb. “Yeah,” he said softly, then let out a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle. “Kinda broken over here.”

Her face fell as her heart wrenched in her chest. What had she done?? “No, no don't say that.”

Across the room, Max paused in his wrestling match with the twins, ears pricked up. Master didn't look happy – should he do something? But then the sunshine woman was raising her hands to Master's face, doing that mouth thing that had made Master happy before, so he left them to it, and continued his game with the younglings.

Grinch drank in the kiss, savored every second, tried to let it push back the dark tendrils that had crept up around his heart. When she pulled away he kept his eyes closed. “...Why?” he whispered.

“Because it's not true.” Donna brought her lips to his forehead, his temple, his cheek. “A person can't be broken. Wounded, yeah, of course. But...” She kissed him on the mouth again. “...wounds heal. With time. If you treat them.” And again she brought their lips together.

When they broke apart he found he still couldn't look at her. “That seems like...a lot of investment,” he murmured.

With one hand on his jawline, she turned his head so their eyes met. “A worthwhile one, if you ask me.”

His heart gave another leap up his throat and the corners of his mouth (which now felt numb from the force of her kisses) twitched upwards. “...Really?”

“Really.” Again she kissed him (six times now! More than one hand could count!), and at last he let himself actively participate, bringing one hand up to her face, enjoying her softness under his fingers.

Which, of course, meant that the twins grew bored with their current game and crawled over to investigate. Max- not wanting to ruin Master's moment – caught one by the seat of his onesie, but the other managed to get across the room, clambering into his mother's lap and squealing.

The pair detached, Grinch startled, Donna chuckling, both staring down at the little interloper. Grinch's frown returned. “You guys have the absolute _worst_ timing. Seriously.”

Bean let out another squeal of delight as Donna gave him an affectionate squeeze. “Yeah, for as 'un-people-like' as they are, it's a little uncanny how good they are at interrupting Mommy's good time.” She blew a raspberry into her son's neck and Grinch felt jealousy – unwarranted, unnecessary, very real jealousy – grip his chest. “That's ok. Come Monday, Mommy's gonna call in the troops, i.e. Grandma and Grandpa, and then hightail it up that mountain to have some _un_ interrupted good times.” She turned her smile his way. “Right?”

The nervous, embarrassingly high-pitched laughter that passed his lips was completely involuntary. “R-r-right.”

* * *

Recess always seemed like forever away, but it was worse than usual today. Cindy Lou was thankful they had science right before break. It was the one subject that could always keep her attention, no matter how distractable she might otherwise be. But it was still with relief that she trotted down the school's back steps onto the playground. “Finally!” She did a little spin, just to work out some of the stiffness from sitting all morning.

“You're telling me,” Axl said as he loped beside her. “Am I the only one who can't find the will to care about what atoms are made of?”

“Nope,” Ozzy assured him, smoothing his bangs away from his eyes (his hat never failed to push them around in a way that made it hard to see).

Izzy rolled her eyes. “No curiosity, the two of you.”

“Not true,” Axl said, smirking as they made their way to the expansive jungle gym. “I'm plenty curious.” He stopped in front of the rock wall and began effortlessly scaling it. “Like what Cindy Lou's gonna call the Grinch when he marries her mom.”

“Axl!” Cindy cried, cheeks rosy as she scrambled up after him.

“Ya gotta admit, it's a little weird,” Ozzy said, easily keeping pace with her. “Would you guys move up to his cave? S'not like all his stuff would fit in your house.”

“Guys – we're SO not there yet.” She hated when they did this, wanted to carry on conversations on this wall. It made focusing on climbing hard. Thankfully they'd been doing it for a few years now, so it wasn't a long climb.

As they reached the top, Groopert and Izzy appeared out of one of the many hamster-cage like tunnels that snaked around the structure. “What'd we miss?” the redhead asked.

“Just wondering if Cindy's new dad is gonna home-school her once they all move up to Mt. Krumpet,” Axl said.

Cindy let out a little huff, stuffing her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie. “Not that he _couldn't_ – cuz he's super smart – but you guys are totally jumping the gun. AND being jerks.”

Izzy sat herself down, pulling a little spiral notebook and pencil from the jacket. “They're just jealous.” She gave Ozzy a pointed look. “I bet Mister Grinch would think your mom's timer was silly.”

“Oh, he's told me he does,” Cindy said, face brightening. “He used grown-up words, though.”

Ozzy scowled. Axl's mouth dropped open. “Whoa, whoa, wait – he swears?”

Maybe Izzy was onto something, Cindy thought with a grin. “Well, he tries not to, but he's not very good at it. So yeah, I've learned some new words Mom doesn't know about.”

Groopert sat down next to Izzy, behind the plastic guard railing that blocked some of the wind. “You better be careful. If your mom finds out, she might not want to marry him anymore.”

“You guys!” Cindy leaned back against the railing, throwing her hands up. “Again, you're all jumping _way_ too far ahead. It was _one_ good night kiss. Would it be cool to have Mister Grinch around all the time? Duh, of course. But that's not up to me, it's up to Mom.”

“You said she likes him,” Izzy said.

“Yeah, but I dunna _how_ she likes him,” Cindy said. She turned, folding her arms over the railing. From all the way up here, she could actually see her house, and...wait, was the front door opening. “Ozzy, binoculars!”

“What? Why?”

“Now, man! Hurry!”

Scant seconds later they were in her hands and she was training them on her front door, where a familiar green figure was stepping out. “Aw, man, I was hoping he was gonna babysit again...”

“He's leaving?” Groopert asked.

“Looks that way. Hang on.” Through the lenses she watched as the Grinch lingered on her front porch, Max circling around his legs. She could see he was talking to someone still inside the house, and he looked nervous. He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, kept fiddling with his hands. Then she saw her mother step out quickly, close the distance between them, and plant one on him – straight on the mouth! “Holy shit!”

“Did he teach you that?” Axl asked.

“What? What did you see?” Groopert asked, getting to his feet, straining to see without the binoculars.

“Hang on, hang on....geez, how long can grown-ups go without air?”

“Wait, what?” Now the rest of the gang crowded around.

Cindy watched as the pair separated, watched as Mister Grinch practically tripped his way down the front porch steps, watched her mother hide laughter behind her hand. Then one of the twins must've done something, cuz Mom ducked back into the house. The Grinch lingered on the sidewalk for a moment, until Max barked and the pair of them headed off down the street. “Huh,” she said at last, a small smile playing on her lips.

“What happened?” Ozzy demanded.

“Did we miss it all?” Izzy asked.

Cindy Lou handed the binoculars pack to Ozzy. “Well, I guess we got a clue about how Mom likes the Grinch.”

“Oh?” Groopert raised an eyebrow.

“Yep.” The unofficial leader of their little group was beaming. “She likes him A **LOT**.”

“Aw, was there mushy stuff?” Axl asked. “Gross.”

“What about the not breathing thing?”

“Cindy, what happened? Seriously!”

“Yeah, don't leave us hangin'!”

But Cindy Lou Who was lost in her own thoughts, happily oblivious to the rest of the playground.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which lunch is had, and seeds of doubt start sprouting.

The sun was high in the sky as Max led Master along the familiar road that wound out of town and back up to home. The ground wasn't icy anymore and the bugs and squirrels were just starting to appear again, but they were still sleepy enough that chasing them wasn't much of a challenge, so it wasn't quite worth it yet. But that might have been for the best, because Master was very distracted and kept making wrong turns and Max had to circle back to herd him in the right direction.

He puzzled over what exactly the sunshine woman had done to Master's brain with all that nuzzling. Maybe, despite Master's earlier protests, Master actually _was_ twitter-pated after all. That would certainly explain a lot. Max had never experienced it himself, but he'd seen enough of the birds and the squirrels get twitter-pated that he knew how silly it could make you. And Master wasn't generally very silly, yet here he was, his usual muttered monologue intermittently interrupted by fits of giggles, so there was definitely something different going on. Not bad, not bad at all, really – these days Master's smile-to-frown ratio was evening out, almost leaning towards more smiles, which made Max nothing but glad. Different was definitely better in this case.

He slowed his trotting, as Master had slowed down, almost to a stop, in front of Mabel's house. Max could smell that she and her master were home, and his tail started wagging. Perhaps they had time to stop and play before heading up the mountain. He gave a yip of approval.

Standing at Bricklebaum's mailbox, Grinch ran a hand over the tuft of fur on top of his head. “Should I...?” he mumbled quietly. “I mean, it _was_ his idea. He'd probably want to know, but...” He started to pace, weighing his options. He should. He _knew_ he should. Even if it meant more talking – and he'd really had quite a lot of it already today. But if he went back up the mountain without stopping, well, it was Friday and he knew himself well enough to know he'd hole up there until Monday was staring him in the face and he could already feel the pricklings of a panic attack in the pit of his stomach.

He had Donna's grocery list in one of the outer pockets of his satchel, which was cutting into his shoulder, weighed down as it was with his to-go toolkit, though the welded metal seemed downright airy compared to that slip of pink paper. He'd have to come back down again for that – he didn't have the fortitude to deal with nosy shop clerks twice in one day. So that would have to keep until Monday morning. There weren't enough salted caramel kisses in the world to motivate him to brave the grocery store on a Sunday, no sir. But that meant the little piece of pink paper was going to continue to weigh on him all weekend.

Being left to his own devices used to be the de facto norm, a comfortable, predictable routine that had him beholden to no one, and he'd liked it. Well...he'd sort of liked it. He'd gotten used to it, anyway. Nowadays the cave had a way of feeling, well, _cavernous._ He'd been slowly adjusting to cozy and cramped and crowded, so that open and spacious now felt...empty. And he was supposed to entertain there? What had he been thinking?? “Do I even _own_ a piece of furniture that fits two people?” he asked aloud.

“Arf!” Max replied, helpfully.

“The bed?!” Grinch's stomach did an uncomfortable flip and he staggered to a stop, whipping around to frown at his dog. “Why would you–? Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?”

“Arf! Arf!”

“What do you mean 'what's the big dea–'?” Grinch paused, a rational thought cutting through the rest of the whirlwind and calming his heart rate just a bit. “Oh. Right. You were fixed before I found you. Nevermind, keep your innocence.” He reached down to scratch the mutt behind the ears. Innocently intended or not, the idea – inviting Donna to his bed (gulp) – was out there now, added to the whirlwind where it would surely come crashing down for a landing later that night. All he could hope for was that it wouldn't come until very, _very_ late.

He took one long, less-calming-than-he'd-hoped-but-it-was-better-than-nothing breath, and stood again. He had almost turned back towards the road to home, when he heard his name being called. _'..._ _And_ _ **t**_ _ **hat's**_ _what you get for dithering on the sidewalk.'_ “H-hey, Phineas.” He gave a small wave as he watched the other step out onto his front porch.

“I thought I heard you talkin' to yourself out here!” Bricklebaum motioned him closer. “I was just about to make lunch – c'mon in!”

“O-oh, I wouldn't want to intrude...”

“You kidding?” Bricklebaum laughed. “Would you get your green butt up here already?” And with that the stout little Who disappeared back into his dwelling, leaving the front door open.

Grinch's shoulders slumped. That was that, then. It had been decided for him. It would be rude to just walk away now, and rude wasn't something he was trying to be anymore. It had been an easy shield to hoist, a simple way to make sure others stayed at arms' length, and now it was a habit he was working hard to break. He glanced down at his faithful companion. “You hungry?”

Max wagged his tail and sprang forward, running across the lawn and up the steps without a hint of trepidation. His dog's confidence made it just a little easier for the Grinch to make the same trek himself, though he hesitated in the doorway, gripping the strap of his satchel with both hands. Inside, he could see Max trying to coax a bored-looking Mabel into playing, could hear dishes clinking back in the kitchen. He took another deep breath and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. It might not have been Winter any longer, but Spring was taking it's sweet time arriving, and the air was still much warmer inside.

His best friend's face appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “You gonna stand there all day?” he teased.

“N-no.” Grinch's cheeks colored and he didn't move.

“You can, if you want to, I mean.” Bricklebaum shrugged before ducking back into the other room, though his voice carried across the distance. “You just leaving Donna's now?”

“Yeah.” Green fingers twisted the leather strap.

“And how'd that go?”

“Um...got the sink working again.”

“Knew you would.”

“Heh, yeah, guess I'm good for something, once in a while...” Max had managed to cajole Mabel into a game of chase and the two of them ran off into another room. Grinch watched them go.

The other's gentle chuckle floated from the other room. “Yeah.” A pause, the sound of the chillibrator door opening and closing. “That all?”

“Uh...well...” Visceral memories – lilacs and caramel and warmth and stirrings – flooded his brain and he squeezed the strap tighter. “N-not exactly.”

“Oh?” The bearded Who appeared again, a plate topped with a too-tall sandwich in each hand. “Why don't you come sit down and tell me about it. You can leave your bag on the bench there.”

“R-right.” It felt a bit like leaving a security blanket behind, but the satchel _was_ too cumbersome to sit and eat while wearing and he _was_ actually hungry now that he thought about it, so Grinch slipped his satchel off of his shoulder, set it down gently, and followed his friend into the eat-in-kitchen. Most of these Who homes seemed to have them. It figured – they were always entertaining, they'd want their guests to be where the action was. His own formal dining room seemed preposterously uninviting in comparison. He took a seat at the small table, imagining how difficult it was going to be to carry on a conversation across his own gargantuan one, and his face must've shown his despair, because Bricklebaum set the plates down and asked, “Don't tell me she said 'no'??”

“Huh?” Grinch looked up.

“Donna,” the other said, taking the seat perpendicular to his friend. “She said 'no'? Or did you not ask her?”

Grinch blinked. “D-Donna...” His mouth couldn't decide if it should smile or frown. “She...she...Monday! She's coming on Monday!” And all at once it was if the floodgates had burst and he couldn't stop the words as they poured out of his mouth. “To the cave, she wants to see it, God only knows why, and she wants to cook – she gave me a list – it's pink, because why wouldn't it be? She's coming and she going to cook and I don't even know if the stove still works I only ever use the microwave, I should write that down, and I need a smaller table and, and, and probably a couch, too, because I don't care what Max says, it's _not_ appropriate to use the bed and–”

“Woah, woah, woah! Slow down, buddy.” Bricklebaum put both hands up. “Breathe, will you?”

Grinch hadn't realized he'd stopped until the air was back in his lungs again. “S-sorry.”

“S'all good.” The other smiled, picked up half of his sandwich. “So she said 'yes'?”

The taller one nodded. “I have no idea why, I mean, I basically vomited the question all over her shoes–” Bricklebaum raised an eyebrow, so he added. “-metaphorically speaking.”

“Gotcha.”

Grinch folded his arms, let them rest on the table, eyes on his untouched food. “...she said yes,” he murmured, half to himself.

“That's a good thing.”

“I...I know.” Grinch picked up the pickle spear lying next to his sandwich and took a bite (not spicy, though he might not have even noticed at the moment).

“She wouldn't've said 'yes' if she wasn't into you.”

Grinch conceded the point with a tilt of is head. “Or kissed me so many times...”

“Wait, say that again?”

“Hmm?” He glanced over, caught the rounder man's smile, realized what he'd said, and nearly choked on his bite. Coughing, he turned away again, but Bricklebaum leaned over the table and poked him in the arm.

“You tellin' me you got some action today?”

A giggle – another goddamn undignified giggle – slipped out before he could stop it and so he nodded, face burning as the other punched his arm a handful of times.

“See? See?? That's what I'm talkin' about! High five, man!”

Grinch straightened up, cheeks still hot. “N-no, I will _not_ high five this. I'm not fifteen.” He then proceeded to take a large bite of his sandwich to keep his tongue busy for a while.

“Aww, I didn't mean nothin' by that.” Bricklebaum sat back, picked up his own sandwich again.

Grinch swallowed, sighed, kept his eyes on his food. “I know.” That was as much of an 'I forgive you for denting my pride by reminding me of the fact that I only just had my first kiss at fifty-three' as he could muster. He took another bite and the two ate in silence for a while.

He shouldn't have been mad – the man hadn't done anything, wrong really. It wasn't his fault that the mountain of firsts now looming on the horizon were both long overdue and shrouded in a fog of uncertainty. And it wasn't his fault that the pricklings were getting stronger, would most likely overtake him before sundown, if not sooner. Because the more he thought about it, the more he was wishing he'd kept his damn mouth shut. If he hadn't asked, she'd have had nothing to say 'yes' to, and she wouldn't be in for what was sure to be a disastrous disappointment. Because, what else could it be, really? This was a woman who had been married, who'd given another man children, who absolutely had no business settling for a middle-aged virgin with nothing to offer her but a scarred psyche and enough emotional baggage to fill the whole, cold, empty cave.

...So why, oh why, had she said 'yes'? Why had she kissed him so tenderly, whispered such sweet words, filled his heart with more hope than he'd ever felt before? What could she see in him that he couldn't see in himself? He'd never known her to be insincere – so if _she_ thought he was worth something...well, maybe he _was_.

Or maybe they were _both_ fooling themselves. But which of them would be more devastated if that were the case? He was pretty sure he knew the answer to that one.

When their plates were covered only with crumbs, Phineas at last spoke again. “So you need a couch?”

“Huh?” Grinch was snapped out of – rescued from – his thoughts and he glanced up. He'd completely forgotten where he was. Had to be more careful, but it was so hard not to just let his mind wander. He'd been doing it uninhibited for so long, his brain wasn't used to accommodating other people, and so he slipped back into old, bad habits far too easily. “O-oh, maybe, yeah...If she actually shows up, she'll probably want somewhere to sit, right?” He tried to smile, like it was a joke and not more evidence that he was truly the saddest sack that ever lived.

“I think I can help you out with that.” Bricklebaum got to his feet, took both of their plates away and deposited them in the sink. “The Parks & Rec office just remodeled and they've got some furniture they're looking to donate.”

Grinch raised an eyebrow. “How do you even know that?”

“Could be cuz I _work_ for Parks & Rec.”

Grinch opened his mouth, closed it, lips pursed, and then said at last. “I don't know why I didn't know that about you. It only makes _all_ of the sense in the world.”

Phineas chuckled, brushing crumbs from his hands onto his pants. “Yeah, it's funny how much more you learn about people when you, ya know, actually talk to 'em.”

“Ha ha.”

“C'mon.” The shorter man approached the taller, taking hold of one skinny green arm and hoisting him to his feet. “We'll take my truck, and have you set up before dark.”

For the umpteenth time, Grinch was left flummoxed by the man's selfless kindness. “...Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.” With a smile, Bricklebaum whistled for the dogs as they headed for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bricklebaum to the rescue again! :)
> 
> It's good to get back to this! Hopefully the next chapter won't take quite so long to get out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the countdown begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a different format this time!

**Friday – 11:19 PM – 2525 Whistling Who Lane**

Donna Jo Who turned the knob of her daughter's bedroom door with practiced care. Mrs. Marpole was on her way home with a crisp $50 in her purse and the house was quiet. But quiet children weren't always sleeping children and as she poked her head in to check, Cindy Lou's excited whisper of “Mom!” was hardly a surprise.

“Hey sweetie.” Donna crossed to the bed, picking up laundry that had missed the hamper as she went. “How was school?”

“Pretty good.” The eight-year-old sat up, the covers slipping off to reveal pajamas patterned with planets and stars. “How was work?”

“The usual.” Donna dumped the clothes in the hamper and came to sit on the edge of her daughter's bed. “Did you work on your homework at all?”

“Yep, got it all done!” Cindy nodded. “I figured that way I don't have to worry about it over the weekend.”

“Smart girl.” Donna brushed a finger along the girl's downy cheek. “Cindy, listen, since you're up...there's something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Cindy Lou felt her stomach give a little flip. All afternoon she'd been waiting for this moment, distracting herself with homework and tending to the twins and too much TV, because if she sat still with her thoughts she got too excited and Mrs. Marpole kept giving her funny looks. She clutched at her covers, trying not to bounce while seated. “Yeah?”

Donna raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I feel like you have an idea of what I'm going to say.” She thought back – what time had Grinch left the house? 12, maybe 12:30...recess. Of course. “You didn't happen to be watching the house with Ozzy's binoculars this afternoon, did you?”

“Maybe.” Cindy wiggled in place, scooting up and onto her knees, her smile broad and her eyes shining. “Did _you_ happen to be kissing Mister Grinch right around lunchtime??”

Donna let out a soft laugh. “As a matter of fact...”

Cindy burst into squealing giggles. “I knew it! I knew it!”

Her mother shushed her, smiling. “Well, I'm glad you're excited.”

“Mom! Mom, this is so cool – you have _no_ idea.” Cindy grasped the sleeve of her mother's scrubs. “He's the best, Mom. Seriously.”

“I like him a lot too, cupcake.” Donna stroked the girl's hair. “I just...I wasn't sure how you'd feel about my...dating, him or anyone, really.”

“What?” Cindy stood up on the bed, so they were eye-to-eye, fist still tightly clutching her mother's sleeve. “Mom, I've been saying for ages that you should be happy. Is this gonna make you happy?”

Donna's smile softened. “I think so. It's just...a little strange, right?”

“Maybe.” Cindy nodded. “A little. But a little strange is better than a lot sad. Right?”

“Cind, I'm not sad–”

“Lonely then.”

Donna had to concede that point, inclining her head in agreement. “You're really ok with this? With my...my dating Mister Grinch?”

The girl wrapped her mother in a tight hug. “Super ok with it, Mom. If you need me to watch the boys, I can–”

That got Donna laughing again. “Nice try. Gram and Pops are coming on Monday.”

“Oh, heh. Right.” Cindy shrugged. “That makes more sense.”

**Saturday – 10:47 AM – 1 Mt. Krumpet Drive**

“A little more to the left, I think. No. No back the other way. Wait, wait, no...maybe? Gah! This shouldn't be so difficult! Am I overthinking it?”

Max, a harness around his torso which tethered him to Bricklebaum's donated couch, gave an aggravated chuff, and sat.

Across the study, Grinch sat himself down on top of his desk. “I know, I know. YES. Obviously.” He hunched forward, glaring at the new piece of furniture, which didn't match his décor at all, but not in a good, eclectic way, more like the 'this was a last minute panic decision and I'm definitely trying too hard' kind of way. “It makes more sense to put it up in front of the fireplace,” he started saying and Max stood, so he quickly held up a hand. “But we're not having that argument again. I'd rather build a whole new fireplace down _here_ than spend any of her time here anywhere remotely _near_ the bedroom. End of discussion.”

Max gave a roll of his eyes and whined.

Grinch hopped down from the desk. “You know what, it's fine where it is.” He strode over and unhooked the harness. “Take five, alright? I'll call if I need anything else.”

The mutt took off towards the stairs, then paused and turned back with a yip.

“Me? Oh, n-nothing. Just, uh, going to do some reading, I think.”

That seemed to satisfy the canine and the Grinch was left alone. He frowned at the couch again. It still felt out of place, but it was better than nothing. At least they wouldn't have to stare at each other from separate chairs across the chess board. Unless she wanted to play, but he wasn't sure chess was really her cup of tea. What _did_ she like? He'd only ever known her to be working or tending to her children, but there most assuredly was more to her than that. This whole 'date' debacle would at least be a good opportunity to learn what that something more was.

He crossed to his wall of bookshelves, climbed the wheeled ladder and rolled himself across the tomes. He knew just where to stop – the very tip-top shelf, at the end of a row of encyclopedias that, from the ground, made the little book he'd been seeking perfectly hidden. His hand stopped just before touching it, fingers drawing back as he reconsidered. He hadn't pulled this particular book down in years – decades maybe. Probably not since he was in his twenties. Back then he'd been a lot more...antsy, as it were. With a rush of embarrassment he plucked the well-worn paperback from the shelf and slid back down to the ground, hurrying to his desk, turning the high-backed chair away from the doorway, so he was facing the wall.

The cover was so worn it was practically falling off, the spine creased so deeply it had cracked, but it hadn't exactly been brand new when it had come into his possession. No, he'd come upon it during a supply run, back when a supply run wasn't an anxiety-inducing trip to the store but rather a mad-dash scramble to scavenge whatever he could from trash cans and dumpsters. This particular find had been in a pile of donation boxes left behind the secondhand store. He hadn't been looking for it. There had been old textbooks in the box and he'd been trying to figure out how to get electricity in the cave and so school books of any kind were a score. But under those, there had been...this.

He'd almost left it, on principle. It was a frivolous thing, and he didn't have time for frivolous things. He had to survive. He didn't have the luxury of down-time, at least, not back then. And it was obviously ridiculous: a pair of Whos in period dress embracing on the cover, the man's shirt unbuttoned and flapping in the wind, the woman's top so low you could almost see her– Even now he blushed staring at it. At 15, he hadn't been able to leave without it, and late that night by the light of an oil lamp he'd devoured it, awakening the stirrings for the first time, and multitudinous times after that.

Over the years, however, he'd come to resent it, not only for the piece of drivel that it clearly was but for what it had done to him. While rationally he knew it wasn't possible, a part of him had wished he'd never had the awakening in the first place. Because, until very, _very_ recently, the stirrings – and the subsequent action required to make them subside – had been a bane, something he'd dreaded, _hated_ , a slap in the face by his own body, reminding him of what his heart had always known and his brain had refused to accept – the terrible, immense loneliness that had shaped who he was. It was awfully hard to pretend you were just fine all alone when your own anatomy was humiliating you by protesting to the contrary.

The Whos on the cover were shaking and it took a moment for him to realize that it was his hands trembling. With a snort, he put the book down in his lap, drumming his fingers on top of it. Was he really going to do this? Revisit this tome of shame? He shook his head, put the book down – face-down – on his desk and went back to the bookshelves. There had to be something – anything – else. A few moments searching yielded an old medical textbook, which he hoisted down from the shelf and sat, with a heavy _thud_ right on top of the old paperback.

As much as he wished it, however, the medical textbook wasn't much use other than a few anatomical drawings (that still managed to make him blush) that at least gave him a handful of names to try and remember and some symptoms of some truly frightening diseases to worry over. With a sigh, he closed the text book...and found the paperback staring up at him. He scowled, but picked it up and spun his chair around again. On autopilot his fingers found the first dogeared section – the actual plot was so pointless, after the first time he'd always just skipped to 'the good parts' – and he skimmed it, one leg bouncing of its own accord.

This was all pointless, really. The novel was written for bored housewives and couldn't possibly represent anything actually close to reality. And it was mostly innuendo anyway, all wrested garments (blush) and heaving bosoms ( _blush_ ) and throbbing manhoods ( _ **blushhhhh**_ ) and nothing practical at all. Forcefully, he clapped the book shut and slammed it down into his lap, stopping his leg from its incessant bouncing.

This was all pointless for a whole different reason too. Here he was, working himself up into a tizzy over something that really had all of a 00000000000.1% chance of happening anyway. Was that sliver of a chance really worth all this extra stress?

Yes, his brain told him. Yes, of course it was, because a chance was still a chance and if things went well (god-willing) with dinner on Monday... Donna had been pretty forward with her affections already and if she wanted to do... _something_ and he didn't know _how_...well, he didn't know if it was possible to die of embarrassment, but he wasn't exactly anxious to find out.

With a groan, he raked his long fingers across his face and then cracked the old paperback open again.

**Satur** **day –** **5** **:38 PM – Whoville** **General** **Hospital**

“Guess what time it is??”

Donna glanced up from her computer at the nurse's station to see her shift-mate grinning down at her from over the raised counter. “What time is it, Liv?”

Oliviana – 'Liv' to my friends – Whoston was a good five years younger than Donna, with dark, curly black hair that she kept twisted up in a bun that always looked effortless and a laugh that carried over the whole ward. She stepped back from the counter and pushed something wheeled around to the shorter side of the wall so Donna could see it – a cart, loaded up with a basin of water, soap, washcloths and towels – and the older woman sighed. “Time for Mr. McCallister's sponge bath, I presume?”

“Yes ma'am.” Liv leaned against the counter with a manicured hand.

“You know, you'd think he'd ask for you once in a while.” Donna said, running a hand over the back of her neck. “Or Susie. Or Kaelyn. You guys still have the energy to wear make-up to work.”

Liv shrugged. “Guess we're not his type.”

“That's very flattering.”

“Maybe you should start, you know...” Liv waved a finger in Donna's face.

“You come to my house sometime, try to wrangle sixteen-month-old boys and do your face up at the same time.” Donna gave the girl a teasing, 'I dare you' look. “Then we'll talk.”

Liv laughed, and it echoed like it always did off the fluorescent lights and the tile floors. “Oh, I've done my eyeliner on the bus and had it come out flawless. I bet you could too. Plus, it might, you know, send out some signals, maybe...?”

Donna rolled her eyes. The girls at work had waited less than a year to begin pestering her about dating again, gently at first, but now it had sort of become a running gag. It had subsided when she'd been on the graveyard shift (a different group of nurses, everyone too tired to do much more than their jobs) but now that she was back with this crew they were doubling down on their efforts. She knew their intentions were good, but she couldn't help but feel a little jolt of triumph as she said, “I don't need to send out signals.”

“Hmm?” Liv cocked her head.

Donna stood, straightened her ID badge, smoothed her hair back. “I don't _need_ to send out signals. Just so happens I've got a date on Monday.”

Susie and Kaelyn happened to be arriving back at the nurse's station just at that moment. “Say that again?” Susie said, brown ponytail bobbing as she hurried closer.

Donna smiled at them – figurative little sisters all – and moved to the bath cart. “I've got a date. Got it all on my own, while _not_ wearing make-up, as a matter of fact.”

Kaelyn brushed long blonde hair out of her face, then clasped her hands at her chest. “With who? Anyone we know?”

“Oh, I'm sure you've seen him around town.” Donna started pushing the cart away from the station. “He stole Christmas a few months back.” With her back turned, she bit her lip to keep from giggling as the girls all started lobbing questions at her. “Sorry, ladies, Mr. McCallister's waiting.”

**Saturday – 7:53 PM – 2525 Whistling Who Lane**

Cindy Lou sank a little deeper into the couch cushions, stifling a yawn as she channel surfed aimlessly. The boys were asleep, Mrs. Marpole was in the kitchen doing dishes (now that the sink didn't make that angry-cat noise it was ok to do after bedtime) and she was bored. Not tired, she'd insisted when the babysitter had first come back from putting the boys down, just bored. Her homework was done, she'd already seen her friends that afternoon, so there was nothing to talk about with them even if she had called. She glanced over at the cordless phone, lying on the other end of the couch, looking kind of lonely. With a jolt of guilt she realized there was _one_ friend she hadn't spoken to that day. Leaving the TV remote behind, she crawled across the couch, scooped up the phone and hit speed-dial #4.

She tapped the fingers of her free hand on her knee as it rang. And rang. He always did this, took forever to answer. She'd told him he should get caller ID, then he'd know it was her and stop worrying about telemarketers or teenagers on a dare. He said he'd 'look into it' which she knew was just grown-up speak for 'yeah, no'.

“...H'llo?”

“Hi Mister Grinch.”

“Oh.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “Hey Cindy.”

She reached over and snagged the TV remote, turning the volume down before getting comfortable again. “How come there's never anything good on TV when you're bored and not tired?”

His laugh, one that still sounded like he was trying it on for size, floated through the phone. “Oh, that's a scam by the ad companies,” he told her. “The more channels you scroll through, the more commercials you'll see.”

He was having fun with her, giving a silly answer to a rhetorical question, and she loved it. “Bastards.”

“Don't let your mother catch you talking like that,” he chided, and there was genuine worry buried under the teasing tone.

“I won't.” She smiled, peeked over the couch to make sure Mrs. Marpole was still occupied. “Speaking of Mom...”

There was a clattering on the other end and a muffled “God damn it! Max, no! Leave it!” before his voice was loud enough to indicate he'd picked the phone back up. “Sorry, you were saying...something about the TV?”

She giggled. “Nuh-uh. I was talking about Mom.”

“O-o-oh?” She heard a screech of chair legs on a stone floor. “What, um, what exactly about her...?”

Cindy rolled over onto her stomach, legs bent at the knees and bare feet crossed. “She said she was gonna go up to the cave and see you on Monday.”

“Sh-she did, did she?”

“Mmhmm. She said you asked her to.”

“I...” She could hear him swallow thickly. “...Y-yeah, I, uh, I did.”

“I told her I don't think it's really fair that she gets the tour first.”

He let out a surprised snort of laughter. “I suppose that _was_ a little rude. In my defense, that part of it was her idea.”

“So you would've given me the tour first?” she asked. “If Mom had wanted to go to a movie or something instead?”

“Absolutely.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I got all my homework done yesterday – I could come up tomorrow!”

“Uh–”

“Not too early or anything – you know how crazy mornings get around here, but I bet I could make it up by, like, 10.”

“Cindy.”

“What?”

There was a long pause and she heard him breathing, long and slow, before he said, “Make it 10:30.”

“You got it!”

“And you'd better ask your mother first!”

“I will!” Beaming, she was practically hugging the phone to her cheek.

He sighed and she heard the chair scrape again. “There was supposed to be something on the Sci-Fi channel tonight...67, I think. Some adaptation of a novel.”

“Yeah?” She was already changing the channel. “One you've read?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You wanna tell me all the parts they messed up?”

He chuckled and she heard background noise that meant he'd turned his TV on. “Oh, I'm sure it's most of it.”

“Awesome.” And she settled in for a suddenly _wonderful_ Saturday evening.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the best laid plans are waylaid by the weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay after so many rapid updates! I've been working on figuring out exactly WHERE this story is going, and trust me, it's going somewhere great! :)

Sunday morning, Cindy Lou woke up to a dark sky and a windowpane blurry with raindrops, and her heart had sunk into her stomach. There went her plans. No way Mom would let her hike up Mt. Krumpet in the rain. 'Too dangerous' she'd say. So Cindy hadn't even mentioned it, going through the usual breakfast routine just a little gloomily, which Mom could just blame on rainy day blahs. She'd helped clean up breakfast and was showing the twins how to do a peg-puzzle while Mom got a shower when the doorbell rang.

She lifted her head towards the sound. “Hang tight, guys,” she told her brothers, crossing the living room to the front door. “Who is it??” she called, loud enough to be heard through the solid wood. She wasn't nearly tall enough to peek out the little window at the top, so this was her screening method of choice.

“Cindy Lou, let me in!” The all-too-familiar irritated voice sounded from the other side. “It's awful out here!”

With a squeal of surprised delight, she undid the locks and pulled the door open. “What're you doing here?!”

Grinch stepped inside, shaking the water from his umbrella with a frown. “You wanted to come up, didn't you?”

She took a few steps back to let him in all the way, shutting the door behind him. “Well, yeah, but I figured with the rain...”

He snapped the umbrella shut, dropped it into the over-sized vase next to the coat rack. Truthfully he'd stopped a number of times on his trek down the mountain, reconsidering if he was making the right decision, coming down to fetch her when Mother Nature had given him such an easy out. But each time he'd stopped, he'd pictured her face, and his feet had started moving again. Because, damn it, this little girl had gotten under his skin in a way that he actually really liked. “Wasn't gonna let a little rain stop you from getting your tour,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin.

She sucked in a breath, bouncing in place. “Seriously?”

He tugged off his rain boots, leaving the mud-covered things next to the door. “If you mother says it's ok.” Straightening up, he glanced around the room, saw nothing but the twins chewing on wooden puzzle pieces. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs!” Fit to burst with excitement, she took a few hops towards the stairs. “Let's go ask her! C'mon!” She darted back and grabbed his hand.

He almost let himself be led, but then his ears picked up the distinctive sound of water running and he stopped, heart skipping a beat. “Cindy – _where_ is she?”

“Hmm? In the shower, why – oh!” She paused too, giving a little giggle. “Oh, yeah she might not like us barging in.”

“Y-yeah, probably not.” With more than a little relief, he drew his hand back, moved towards the couch. “We can wait. What're we working on here?” He sat himself down, peering over at the babies.

“Puzzles,” she replied, trotting back over to sit beside her brothers. Bean let his piece fall from his mouth, a line of drool trailing from his lips to the floor. “But they don't really get the idea yet.”

“Apparently not.” Grinch rested his forearms on his thighs, watching them warily. It was mildly upsetting how mildly upsetting they still were. He kept trying to find them charming, like he found Cindy Lou, but they were just these little bundles of uncontrolled bodily fluids and he was having a hell of a time moving past that. When one was used to neat and orderly, drooling and diapers weren't easily adapted to. One of them fell over backwards, noticed he was there from the new vantage point, and let out a gurgle of what he assumed was approval because suddenly they were both moving towards him, and he scooted back instinctively. “H-h-hey, guys,” he managed, wishing he hadn't left Max at home.

Cindy grinned, leaning forward to grab Buster around the middle and pull him into her lap. “They like you.”

“I noticed.” The other twin made a grab for his leg and he jerked it away, crossing one leg over the other. “Can't imagine why...”

The girl's smile softened. He did this a lot, talked down about himself. She'd never known another grown-up to do that. She assumed grown-ups all probably felt that way sometimes, but there seemed to be this unspoken rule that you didn't say it out loud. But her new friend didn't know much about the rules that were written down, much less the ones that weren't in writing. “Prolly cuz you feed 'em and stuff when Mom's not here,” she offered. “And you're, ya know...nice.”

His wince (Bean had managed to latch on to his leg fur and pull himself up again) dissipated as he turned to blink in her direction. It was such a small, simple word; it was incredible how powerful it felt. “...Really?” he asked, voice suddenly small.

“Yeah, 'course.” She let Buster go and followed as he crawled back over to the couch. She leaned against the seat cushions, looking up at him. “You don't think so?”

Her blue eyes – so like her mother's – were boring into him and he had to turn away, clearing his throat. “I-I-I dunno, kid. I was a...a...a real jerk. For _years_.”

“But you weren't.” She noticed Buster trying to scale the cushions and helped hoist him up onto the couch. “You were just left out. When I get left out, I can turn into kind of a jerk too.”

The twin she'd put next to him was crawling into his lap, but he was too preoccupied to pay it much mind. He almost felt like he should be lying on the couch rather than sitting, and he had to smirk at the mental image of this little blonde spitfire in a tweed jacket and glasses, notepad in hand, psychoanalyzing him. “How can you...I was even a jerk to _you_ , the first time we ever met.”

“Yeah, but I totally beaned you with my tube – that wasn't cool either.”

He chuckled. “So we were both jerks, then?”

“Yeah.” She hopped up next to him, wanting to hug him, but not sure he'd want it, so she just leaned against his side. “So we're even. We can still be friends.”

He glanced down at her shining, life-giving smile and reaffirmed his decision to trek down the mountain in the rain. Raising one arm, he wrapped it around her small frame, squeezing gently. “Glad to hear that.” Still on the floor, Bean let out a whimper. “Lemme guess – feeling left out?” Grinch leaned down and scooped the tot up and brought him to join them on the couch, where he was immediately rewarded with more fur-pulling and drool. He sighed softly, still off-put, but a little less so.

Donna, half-way down the stairs, put a hand to her chest. She'd been slightly alarmed when she'd heard muffled voices from upstairs, and she'd rushed out of the shower, throwing her Sunday morning lounge clothes on and leaving her hair wet as she'd hurried to investigate. Now she was happy she'd rushed, because she would have sorely regretted missing this scene.

The butterflies in her stomach were swirling happily and she stayed quiet a moment, just drinking it in, marveling at how right it felt – this man with her children (all of them!) in his arms. She'd spent the last year and a half assuming that it would never feel right again, that there couldn't possibly be someone else out in the world who wouldn't feel out of place in that spot. And, truthfully, a part of her still ached (and would always) that the spot had been vacated in the first place. But a vacancy wasn't meant to remain empty forever, and she trusted that the butterflies were telling her that this was ok.

When she'd been pregnant with the boys, she'd worried, agonized over whether or not she would love them as much as Cindy Lou. After six years of being a family of three, jumping to five seemed too big of an ask, and she'd fretted, first silently and then out-loud, that her heart wouldn't have room for all of them.

_“_ _Donna Jo,” Lou had said (he always used her full name), brown eyes sparkling with laughter. “You don't have to worry about the size of your heart. You wanna know why?”_

_She'd frowned, not liking his teasing tone when she'd been so legitimately upset. “Why?”_

_“Because you're not just growing two babies in there right now,” he'd told her. “You're growing two more hearts – one for each of 'em.”_

_“Oh, stop.” She'd shoved him, lightly._

_“I mean it! Listen – you love me with your whole heart, right?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“And you love Cindy Lou with your whole heart too?”_

_“W-well, yes, of course...”_

_“So there you go – you've already got two whole hearts. What's two more? There's plenty of room for more – six, seven, who knows?” He'd hugged her from behind – her absolute favorite way to be held – both hands on her distended stomach. “You won't_ _**ever** _ _run out of love to give, Donna Jo. Heck, that's why I married you in the first place.”_

_She'd started to cry, blamed it on her fluctuating hormones, and they'd gone and picked up Cindy early from school so they could spend the afternoon together, just the three of them._

And Lou had been right – she loved her boys with her whole heart, each of them. So if she'd had room for them, then she was certain she'd have room for one more. She continued descending the stairs, clearing her throat to announce her presence. “Wasn't expecting to see you until tomorrow.”

Cindy and Grinch both turned, her beaming, him looking like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Mom!” The girl hopped down from the couch, rushing to meet her mother at the bottom of the stairs. “Mom! Mr. Grinch said he would show me his cave, but you have to say 'yes' first. So can I go, Mom? Can I? Please, please, please??”

Donna glanced between her daughter and the big picture window in the living room, watching the sheets of rain smack against the glass. “Oh, cupcake, I dunno...” She turned towards the couch, an apologetic smile on her face. “I'm so sorry you came all this way in this weather...”

Grinch wanted to stand, to bolt upright, but he couldn't. He still had the twins in his lap, pinning him in place. “O-oh, no, I understand...a-a-and it wasn't really any trouble. Not my favorite kind of hike, but I've done it before...”

Cindy was frowning. They were deciding for her – which, yeah she was 8½, but still – and it was so unfair. “But Mooooooooom!”

Donna shook her head. “It's just too wet out there right now...” she started to say, and then Cindy gave her a look that she knew was at least half-manipulative and she folded anyway, adding, “...but if it lightens up, maybe in a little while. If Mister Grinch doesn't mind waiting here with us for a bit.”

Both females turned to look at him expectantly and he felt his cheeks grow warm. “Uh, n-no, I don't mind that.” As Cindy began bouncing and chattering excitedly, he let himself look at Donna. He'd never seen her like this before – freshly showered, blonde hair looking more brunette from being wet, a few strands sticking to her neck leading down to a shoulder that was half bare in an over-sized t-shirt with no bra strap to be found and his eyes traveled lower and then immediately shot back up again, his whole face hot. She _really_ hadn't been expecting him, apparently. Now he was wishing he'd called first. She seemed nonplussed about the whole situation, but that was fine, because he was plussed enough for the both of them. One of the twins yanked on the fur around his neck and he yelped, though the distraction was a welcome one. “Ow! Geez, take it easy, guys. This stuff is actually, you know, attached to me.”

The twin that had yanked him giggled, then declared, “Fah!”

His brother, not wanting to be outdone, clasped chubby arms around Grinch's neck and stated, “Gee Fah!”

Cindy Lou let out a giggle. “That's right, guys! Green fur!” She hurried back over to the couch, leaning against his legs. “This is Mr. Grinch. Can you say 'Mr. Grinch'?”

The twins looked at each other a moment, before Bean said, “Gee Dada!”

Grinch's mouth went dry, his tongue like cotton as it lolled about uselessly between his teeth.

Buster smiled widely. “Gee Dada!”

Donna put a hand to her mouth to hide her smile.

Cindy looked fit to burst with laughter. “I guess that's close enough.”

The twins, both equally exhilarated at the new skill they'd acquired, began chanting, “Gee Dada! Gee Dada! Gee Dada!”

“Oh boy,” Donna said with a chuckle. “I think 'Gee Dada' is gonna need some coffee. Seems like it might be a long morning.” She moved towards the kitchen. “Cream and sugar, right?”

“Buh?” Grinch shook his head, which had gone decidedly empty until Donna's voice had cut through the fog. “Uh, y-y-yeah ya know maybe I should help you with that.” As quickly as he could while still being careful, he set both babies back on the floor, where they happily rediscovered their puzzle pieces. “You, um, you ok with them for a minute?” he asked Cindy, wishing his voice didn't sound quite so shaky.

“Sure! Hey guys, let's try to find where the puzzle pieces _belong_ instead of just...oh, no, back to chewing? Well, alrighty then. You do you, Bean.”

With more than a little relief, Grinch slipped away into the kitchen, pausing once he was out of sight to put a hand on his chest, rubbing in little circles as if that might coax his heart to stop pounding. It was silly, getting worked up by the babbling of children who could barely walk, yet here he was.

“Sorry about that.” Donna's voice brought him back to the present moment and he looked up to find her leaning against the kitchen counter, the coffee pot percolating behind her. “I'd tell them that they're jumping the gun a little bit, but...ya know, they're one.”

“I-i-i-it's no big deal.” He failed to say it convincingly.

“I'm not even sure where they heard that word,” she mused aloud, turning to open one of the upper cabinets and poking around for mugs. “They were barely three months old when–” She stopped short and he watched her shoulders go rigid briefly before relaxing again. “Maybe TV...anyway, if you want them to stop, we'll work on that. No promises, but we'll work on it.” She set two mismatched mugs on the counter and turned back to him with a smile.

Drawn in, in a way that was equal parts frightening and wonderful, he crossed the kitchen, stopping just shy of being close enough to touch. “N-no, I mean...they're babies. Not like they know any better...”

“In their defense, you're the first consistent male presence they've ever known,” she said, gently gesturing him closer.

“Really...?” He took another step forward without even thinking, was rewarded with her taking hold of his arms, closing the distance between them.

“Mmhmm.” She rested one hand on his hip, brought the other up to play with the 'gee fah' around his neck. “Plus you're so tall. 'Dada's are always tall to toddlers.”

He laughed a little at that, a breathy, nervous-sounding thing. “M-makes sense.”

She smiled again, hooking her hand behind his neck. “I wouldn't lose any sleep over it or anything.”

And then she kissed him, and he couldn't imagine losing sleep over anything ever again. At least, not in that moment.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cindy-Lou gets the tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates - holidays and all. But I've got a few days off now, so the next update hopefully won't be quite so long! :)

“I can walk, ya know.”

The 8-year-old currently riding on his back, one arm tight around his neck, the other hand holding the umbrella, started to slip down slightly and Grinch adjusted his hold on her. “Yeah, but it's faster this way. And who knows how long before the rain picks up again.”

The rain had let up right in the middle of lunch and Cindy hadn't wasted any time, declaring herself full and grabbing his galoshes before either of the adults could even think to try and talk her down. It was drizzling still, but it was better than pouring, and so Donna had agreed.

_“_ _Just for a couple of hours, ok?” she'd said, snapping her daughter's rain slicker up to her chin. “It's a school night. Mrs. Marpole will expect you back for dinner.”_

_“You got it.” Cindy had nodded vigorously, agreeing to anything so long as it got her up that mountain. “Mr. Grinch has got clocks, right, Mr. Grinch?”_

_“O-of course,” he'd said, thinking of his clock radio, crushed at the bottom of a cavern. He had others, but that obnoxious thing always came to mind first. “I'll have her back by five.”_

_“But we don't eat until 6:30!” Cindy had protested._

_Grinch and Donna had locked gazes. “Five,” he assured her._

_“Thank you.”She'd leaned forward, stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, which made Cindy snicker. “Have fun, you too.”_

_“We will!”_

Cindy had been out the door so fast, he hadn't been able to get the umbrella open until they were halfway across the bridge that marked the edge of town, which had meant he'd gotten just wet enough that he could start to feel his fur frizzing, which he hated. But there wasn't much to do about it now but to keep moving and try to dry off at home.

Home. He was really doing this, bringing this child - on piggyback no less! - into his home. He'd gone to bed right after the movie last night (which, as predicted, had been dreadful) and he'd left early that morning, and so he'd given no actual thought as to what they would actually _do_ once they arrived. He tried to think about it as he climbed, but the path was slippery and his center of gravity was thrown off by his little cling-on passenger and so it took all of his focus just to stay upright and keep moving forward. So he'd just have to 'wing it', as the saying went, which he'd never been particularly good at.

“Hey...how come you never took your signs down?”

“Hmm?”

“Your signs.”

Cindy couldn't gesture, but he knew what she was talking about. They were drawing nearer now, and wooden, hand-painted signs dotted the path. 'GO AWAY' they shouted. 'NO, REALLY, BEAT IT'. “Just...didn't get around to it, I guess,” he murmured. “Not like I wanna be having town meetings up here or anything...”

She giggled at the mental image. “Still. Maybe if the rain stops all the way I could help with that.”

“We'll see.”

They were at the door now, and he set her down once they were under the roof of the stone alcove that had decades ago been merely a hole in the mountain. As he watched her hurry to the door, a vision, like an out of body experience, of himself at her age, approaching the entrance with much more trepidation and grief, flashed through his mind. He'd been grateful for the shelter, but fearful too. The cave was dry but monstrous, especially to one so small and it had taken him months to gather the courage to go exploring beyond just the mouth. There were a number of close calls where only sheer dumb luck had kept his bones unbroken–

Suddenly this whole thing felt like a mistake. What in the hell had he been thinking, bringing her to this...this _death-trap_ he called a home?? Her hand was inches from the doorknob and he hurried forward, covering it with his own before she could make contact. “I, um, I should probably go in first. Just so, uh, you know, Max doesn't freak out.”

“No problem.” She took a step back, watching him with a patient smile.

“Uh...right. Ok. Here we, uh, here we go, I guess.” With that, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Far from 'freaking out', Max was waiting for them, having smelled them coming up the mountain, and he was on them in an instant, jumping on Master's legs before moving on to bombard the sunshine girl with kisses. “Hiya, pup!” she scratched him behind the ears, not at all perturbed by the dog saliva drying on her cheeks. “I came to play today! How's that sound! Hmm? How 'bout that?”

He responded with a wag of his tail before dashing halfway up the entryway steps, dashing back down again, and then back up once more with a 'follow me!' yip. Cindy bounded after him, and Grinch had to scramble to close the door, shut the umbrella, toss his boots on the mat and hurry after them, all the while the pricklings of panic were springing to life in his stomach. It had to be one in the afternoon by now, and they'd have to leave by four to get her home on time. So that was three hours. He could keep her safe for three hours, right? They'd run off beyond his sight but her heard her exclaim “Whoa!!” from the kitchen and took the remaining stairs two at a time.

She was standing in the center of the room, gaping up at his coffee machine. “Holy cow! Look at this thing!” she gushed. “It's so cool! ...what's it do?” she asked, turning back towards him.

He held up a hand, the other on his thigh as he hunched over, catching his breath. He shouldn't have been winded from a little sprint like that, but then he also didn't usually hike up the mountain carrying 45+ pounds either. He took a moment, one last big breath, and straightened up. “It's, um, it's just my coffee maker.”

Max made an indignant little whine.

“Sorry, excuse me. It's my French Press. _Max_ is the coffee-maker.”

Cindy Lou let out a giggle that was equal parts amazement and disbelief. “No way.”

“Way. If I wanted the extra caffeine, I'd have him show you but–” The rest of his sentence ended in a frightened squeak as she began scaling the cabinets. “Ah ah ah!” He rushed forward, catching her around the middle and yanking her back. “What do you think you're doing??”

“I was gonna see how it worked,” she said matter-of-factly.

She was so sure of herself, so fearless. He was half-impressed, half-terrified. “Ok, let's take a minute here.” He picked her up and sat her in one of the chairs at the little kitchen table, taking the adjacent seat for himself. “To be clear – love the enthusiasm. Truly. But you see that?” He pointed at the propane tank, shining bright red with the yellow 'fire' warning label.

The little girl glanced over at it and then back at him. “Yeah?”

“ _That..._ ” he said, and then paused a beat too long as he debated his word choice. Come on too strong and he might quash her curiosity, but too light and she'd be bound to do something else dangerous. “...isn't safe,” he settled on.

“But you let Max use it.”

“Max is five, which is thirty-five in dog years. He's a grown-up.”

Cindy turned to watch as the mutt attempted to lick his own eyeball. “Seriously?”

“Yes, _seriously,_ ” Grinch said, brow furrowing. “Does your mother let you play with the stove?”

“Well, no, but that thing isn't–”

He stood, crossed quickly to the machine and pressed down on the kick-pedal attached to the tank, causing a burst of flame to shoot out. He watched as her eyes widened, then pointed to the warning label. “That's what this means.”

“Oh.” She folded her hands in her lap, looking just a bit smaller than before.

He sighed, coming over to kneel next to her chair. “Look kiddo, it's just you and me today, and this place...just wasn't built with kids in mind. Now, are there lots of things you _can_ play with? Absolutely.”He reached out tentatively and put a hand on her shoulder. “But you've gotta give me the chance to tell you which they are, ok?”

She nodded, expression still somber. “Ok, Mr. Grinch.”

“Ok.” He let his knuckles graze her cheek and her smile flickered. “Now.” He stood, offered her his hand. “You ready to see something cool?” Her smile returned full force and she took it, hopping down from her wooden chair and letting him lead her to a high-backed red-velvet upholstered one. He sat down, patted his knee. “C'mon up.” Puzzled but curious, she clambered up into his lap. “Hold on tight.” And before she could even ask why, they were sinking through the floor.

“Holy–!” She latched onto the fur on his chest, wind on her face and her stomach doing little flips as darkness surrounded them. It was like being on a carnival ride but with no warning, so it was a little scarier than she'd readily admit. There was a buzzing electrical sound and then a hundred Edison bulbs flickered to life around them, like mechanical stars, rising above them as they continued to sink lower. She gasped, entranced, leaning forward and feeling his hands take hold of her middle again. That added security only made her lean further out, peeking past his legs, past the little cut-out circle of the floor from the kitchen, to their destination, and she let out a squeal, bouncing in his lap. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!”

Grinch couldn't help the swell of pride that filled his chest, even as he tightened his grip to keep her in place. “Hold still, kid! Wait 'til we're on the ground!”

She let him pull her back slightly, continuing to bounce in place. “But this is – this is – it's – it's your –”

“It's my lab, yes.”

She let out a wicked laugh, hands tugging at her hair. “This...is...the _shit_! Seriously, Mr. Grinch – you have NO idea!”

The smile he gave her was small, hesitant. “You really think so?”

“Are you kidding?!” She stood on his legs, grasped his shoulders and was only at perfect eye-level with him because he'd shrunk back in surprise. “This is like...like science class on steroids!” The chair touched down and she hopped to the floor. “What can I touch? What can I touch??”

Just a tad overwhelmed, he rose from his seat, smoothing out his fur. He'd hoped she'd be impressed – he'd put so much time and energy into it it was practically an extension of himself – but, yet again, getting what he'd wanted was proving difficult to accept. “Uh...right, ok, let's see...Oh, um, well, we can start here.” He gestured to the chalkboard behind him.

Cindy Lou arched her back to stare up at it. “Why do you need it so big? How do you even write on the top part?”

He chuckled. “The chair goes up too,” he said by way of explanation. “And yeah, I guess it's a little, ah, overstated–”

“Ya think?”

He pouted and finished his thought. “– but sometimes calculations take a lot of space to work out, and I work better when I can see everything in front of me, rather than flipping through notebook paper.”

“Huh.” Her expression shifted back from 'teasing' to 'impressed' and she nodded. “Guess that makes sense. But it's empty – you aren't working on anything right now?”

“Kind of...between projects at the moment,” he admitted.

She stepped up to the board, picking up a tiny piece of chalk from the bottom ledge. Such an enormous blank canvas was intimidating, like staring at an empty sheet of paper, but 100% more so. “Where do you get your ideas?”

“Huh?”

“Like...the dishwasher. Or the thing that gets rid of all the dirty diapers.” She raised the piece of chalk to the board and then put it back again. “How do you, you know, just think up that stuff?”

He took the few steps needed to stand beside her, hands clasped behind his back. “Most ideas start with a need. If there's a job that needs doing and not an easy way to do it, my brain just starts asking 'why not?' or 'how can we do this better?'. Sometimes it's not even an important need. I used to make my own coffee in the morning, but each time I did I couldn't help but think how much more I'd enjoy waking up everyday if it was a job I didn't have to do. And so my brain just starts...puzzling it. Nonstop, usually.”

“Whaddaya mean?” She turned to look up at him. It was easy to forget how tall he was, he hunched over so much, but he was standing up straight at the moment, shoulders back. He looked comfortable, relaxed in a way she'd rarely seen.

“Hmm? Oh, I guess some people would call it 'obsessive',” he answered, gazing up at the board, his mind showing him design sketches and flow charts and equations long-since erased. “But once I get an idea in my head, it just...sticks. Won't leave me alone until I do something about it.”

Cindy nodded. “What if what you build doesn't work?”

“Then I try again.” It was a simple statement. “You should see the junkyard's worth of failed prototypes I've got lying around this place.” He smirked.

“Sometimes I get too upset when something doesn't work, and I just leave it.”

He glanced down at her, surprised to see the pink in her cheeks. He crouched down, elbows resting on his knees. “You wanna know what I do when something doesn't work the first time?”

She met his gaze, quizzical. “I thought you said you just tried again.”

“I do,” he nodded, “But before that...” He stood back up, offered her his hand, and lead her over to his desk, beside which sat a mini-chillibrator and what looked like a lower kitchen cabinet that wasn't attached to anything. He leaned on top of the cabinet and pulled one of the doors open with the other hand.

Cindy Lou's eyes widened, and she bit her lip, grinning. The cabinet shelves were crammed full of every sort of snack Mom rarely brought into the house. The good stuff, the stuff kids traded for in the cafegymatorium at lunchtime, that guaranteed you were the top dog of the lunch table. The stuff that Gram would smuggle into the house in that giant purse of hers when they came to visit, doling them out stealthily, with a 'don't let your mother catch us' look. She couldn't stop from bouncing in place, hands flexing. “These are all _yours_??” she asked.

He chuckled. “One of the few perks of living alone...Nobody tells you what you can or can't eat.”

At the base of the stairs, having just come down to join them, Max gave a little whine.

Grinch ducked his head as if scolded, frowning. “Well, nobody who pays the bills, anyway.”

Cindy giggled, eyes still on the treats. “So...so what? You snack when something goes wrong?”

He blinked. He knew what she meant – she was still speaking in the context of inventing – but he couldn't help but feel a little called-out. _'Out of the mouths of babes and all that...'_ “Pretty much. Now, I know we haven't actually started anything yet, but if you were hungry–”

She dove for the cabinet before he could even finish his sentence. She stood back with a cardboard tube of chips in one hand and popped the top with the other. “Are there drinks in there?” She pointed with a chip at the half-size chillibrator.

“O-oh, yeah, of course.” He moved to open it, but she was one step ahead of him, pulling the door open and setting her chips down so she could crack the tab on a root beer. “No, please, help yourself,” he said drolly.

“Fanks!” she said around a mouthful of chips. “You gonna have something?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

Armed with a sarsaparilla and a sleeve of chocolate cream cookies, he resumed showing her around. She lounged in the old sleigh, pressing every button until she had all of the features memorized. She was enamored with his model of the town, enjoyed showing him where her school was, the comic book shop (she made him promise to go with her for Free Comic Book Day), and her secret club house. “Mom doesn't even know where it is!” she confided, voice low. Grinch crossed his heart that he wouldn't tell.

They spent all afternoon in the lab, playing with everything he deemed 'non-injury-inducing', working up blueprints for a way to get up into the tree house without the use of Donna's bowling ball (she was starting to get suspicious), going back to the snack cabinet each time they ran out, and generally just enjoying each other's company. So much so that they didn't notice that the rain had picked back up (the lab was so deep down it didn't have windows), nor the slight rumbling overhead, until Max abandoned a game of 'chase the drone' to dart back up the stairs, barking.

“What's up with him?” Cindy asked, drone remote still in her hands.

“Not sure...” Grinch put a hand up and she landed the quadrocopter, its humming going silent and that's when he heard it. A low, deep sound that the high-pitched whine of tiny propellers had drowned out. “Oh no...” He hurried for the stairs, calling back, “Stay here!”

Cindy Lou, of course, dropped the remote on the stone floor and ran after him.

Grinch found Max in the foyer, barking and growling at the door, and he reached down to give him one quick, reassuring pat on the head, before going to open the door. There was no light at all coming from the little window and his stomach felt ice cold. “Holy hell...” He pulled the door open and had to shut it just as quickly. Mud and rocks and debris were pouring over the rock awning in a sheet too thick to see through.

“What's happening?”

He whipped around to find Cindy standing next to Max and fear gripped his chest. “I thought I told you to stay in the lab.”

“But–”

“Max – take her back down. I've gotta board up the windows.”

The mutt nodded, took the hem of her shirt in his teeth and tugged. “W-wait!” She resisted, eyes wide. “Mr. Grinch, what's going on?”

He was already moving, grabbing an unused 'unwelcome' sign and hammering it up over the glass portion of the front door. When the task was done he turned to pick up more and noticed her, still standing there despite Max's best efforts, her face ashen. With a wrenching tug in his chest he dropped back down to one knee, hand on her shoulder. “The rain caused a mudslide.” He didn't have time to mince words. “We'll be fine _if_ I can get all the windows secured. So I need you to go with Max. I'll come get you and we'll call your mother just as soon as I'm done. Ok?”

Her lower lip trembled, for just a brief second, before she pressed both lips together and nodded. “Kay.”

“Good girl. Now go.”

He only watched them turn back to the stairs before resuming his task. The cave had more skylights than windows, and those he'd built security measures into. A flip of a switch had armor plating unfolding to cover them, and he would've been proud of how well they worked if he wasn't a solid, furry ball of anxious energy. _'Shit shit shit shit shit...'_ So much for getting her home in time for dinner – things probably wouldn't dry out enough to get back down the mountain until morning at the earliest. Which meant...which meant... _'One problem at a time.'_

When he'd completed his task, he returned to the lab, finding Cindy sitting in his desk chair, Max tucked in next to her, nervously snacking in a way that was a little too familiar for comfort. “We're alright,” he said as he drew closer. “I didn't mean to snap at you back there.”

She nodded, finished the last bite of the mini-cupcake in her hand. “One time, when I was littler, I let go of Mom's hand to go see a guy who was selling balloons across the street and she yelled like that. Cuz she was scared, she said. Scared I'd get hurt.” She looked up at him. “Were you scared?”

“A little.” He sat down on top of the desk. “It's not like this hasn't happened before, but the last time it did was before I had Max, so I was only worrying about myself.” At the sound of his name, his faithful companion raised his head and Grinch gave him a scratch behind the ears. “Worrying about other people...it's worse.”

“How come?”

That was a good question, and he considered it a moment before answering. “Kid, I honestly couldn't tell you,” he said at last, with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Your mom could probably explain it, but I – oh, shit, we've gotta call your mom.” He twisted around, rummaging through the assorted papers, tools, and materials on his desk until he located the cordless phone.

“You want me to do it?” Cindy offered.

He laughed, a layer of nervousness underneath, as he hit the #2 speed-dial button and put the phone to his ear. “No, no I think I can handle–”

“Grinch?” Donna's voice on the other end startled him so fiercely that he nearly dropped the phone.

“H-hey!” The more he tried to push back the anxiety, the more it seemed to bleed into his tone.

“I can't really talk right now, is everything all right?” In the background the bustle of the nurses' station could be heard.

“Uh, y-y-yeah, I mean, sort of.”

“Sort of?” There was a shuffling sound and a muffled “Hang on, Liv, just gimme one sec,” before the background noise faded and her voice came back on the line stronger. “Grinch, what happened?”

He desperately wished it was the corded phone he was using. Twirling the cord around his finger was such an easy way to fidget and now he was fumbling blindly around on the desk for something to keep his other hand busy. He settled on a metal washer, flipping it deftly from between each pair of his long fingers back and forth, back and forth. He cleared his throat. “We're fine, really, just the, uh, the rain might have caused a little, um, mudslide.”

“Oh my god!”

“We're ok! I swear! Donna, the cave is perfectly safe. The path back into town, however...”

“Right...geez...” She exhaled. “Is she...I mean, will you be all right, with her tonight?”

“Not a lot of choice in the matter,” he said without thinking, and then wished he could swallow the words back up. “I didn't mean that, I'm so sorry.”

“No, no, I get it. Not exactly what you'd planned.”

“No, I wasn't really thinking about reciprocating the sleepover invitation until at _least_ the end of the school year,” he said, a bit of the anxious energy dissipating as he let himself smile. She wasn't mad, didn't even sound worried anymore. She trusted him with the kids in her home, why shouldn't she trust him with Cindy here? Well, besides all the death-trap stuff, but she didn't know about that yet. One problem at a time, after all. “B-but we'll be fine. It's just one night. When things dry out and it's safe to head back down, we will.”

“Ok. I'll text Mrs. Marpole to let her know,” Donna said. “Can I talk to Cindy Lou?”

“Of course.” He handed the phone over to the little girl, who already had her hands out waiting for it.

“Hey Mom.” He watched as she spoke, her short legs dangling over the edge of his desk chair, catching only her side of the conversation. “Yeah, it was a little scary, but Mr. Grinch put stuff over the windows, so we're good. Uh huh. Oh yeah, he's got plenty of food. _No,_ I didn't eat too much junk. Mom, it's all good, for real. But like, maybe call school in the morning? Let 'em know I might be late? Yeah, we'll prolly hafta go straight there. Can you just toss my backpack on the bus with Groopert? Yeah, my homework's inside. Ok. Ok, yeah. I will. Mom, I _will!_ Promise. Ok. Mmhmm. Love you too! Night!” She pressed the 'end call' button, laid the phone in her lap and looked up at him. “So...what now?”

Grinch blinked, the washer slipping from his fingers and clinking on the stone floor. “Uh...”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which dinner is had.

“All your rooms are so far apart,” Cindy Lou observed, trotting down the flight of stairs that led from the study to the kitchen. They'd been killing time there, first attempting to play chess, which she had deemed 'boring', and then poking through the library. She'd been amused by how many old manuals and pamphlets he had, covering topics ranging from puberty to tornado drills to the internal combustion engine. She'd set aside one about space flight 'for bedtime', and then declared she was hungry, so here they were, her taking two or three steps for each of his loping strides. “You'd think you'd be in better shape.”

He balked, pausing at the bottom of the stairs as she continued on ahead of him. “Hey...”

“Hmm?” She spun back around, eyes widening. “Oh shit – I-I mean shoot – that came out way meaner than I meant!” She scurried back over, throwing her arms around his middle. “I'm sorry!”

His cheeks felt warm as he awkwardly patted the top of her head. He'd asked Donna once about this apparent lack of filter and she'd said it was something most kids lacked. “I'm not saying you're _wrong.._.”

She craned her neck to look up at him, crestfallen, arms still stretched as far as they could go around his stomach. “I'm sorry! Really! I didn't think, I mean I did, but I was thinking about how many stairs there are and then the mountain's so tall and, and–”

“Cindy, relax, will you?” Her stammering apologies were reminding him of himself and he let a hand rest on her shoulder. “Remember the big red chair? It goes to nearly every room in this place. And before this past Christmas, I only went down the mountain maybe once a season to stock up on food. And you saw what kind of food I stock up on, right? So, again...” With his free hand he pinched his stomach. “Not wrong.”

“Still, it was a jerk thing to say.” She gently pulled his hand away, let her cheek rest against his soft belly.

“Well, we're still even as far as I'm concerned,” he assured her, the warmth from his cheeks spreading and settling in his chest. “Should we see what I've got around here that qualifies as dinner?”

She smiled up at him. “Kay.” With one last squeeze, she released him and made her way over to the cabinets, opening doors at random. “So Mom said she was gonna do the cooking tomorrow – do you not know how?”

“Ah...” Seriously, the girl just said whatever thought popped into her head. “I manage. But this...” He opened the freezer door and extracted two _Hungry Who_ frozen dinners from a tall stack of their brethren. “...is generally more my speed.” He held them up so she could see the boxes. “Chicken or meatloaf?”

“Whichever one comes with the brownie,” was her answer.

“Wise choice.” With a grin, he tore open the first box, slipped a knife from its block to vent the plastic cover, and slid the meal into the microwave with the ease of one who'd done this more than a few thousand times in his life. He set the timer and stepped back, satisfied. It wasn't exactly 'healthy' but he'd managed to survive on meals like this, so it couldn't be all bad. Then again... He poked at his stomach.

It was silly, decidedly so, when one was taller and furrier than everyone else, not to mention _green_ , to feel self-conscious about a fluffy middle. His once-firm foundation of self-perception had been crumbling over the last few months. After all, if girls as sweet as Cindy and women as perplexingly perfect as Donna wanted to give him the time of day, well, then... He pinched at his stomach again. He couldn't change being taller or furrier or greener than everyone else, but this...this little thing he actually _could_ change. With the right motivation. Donna's face flashed in his mind. Motivation didn't get much righter than that.

A clanking sound brought his focus back to the room and he realized with a start that Cindy had climbed up on the counter and was pulling dishes down from his open shelves.“You're a real monkey, you know that?" he said, hiding a panicked squeak.

“Yeah, Mom says that too,” she said with a grin, let him take the plates and went back for cups. “It's not my fault everything's always so up high. How else am I supposed to get at it?”

He found himself chuckling as he set the plates down on the little kitchen table. “Can't argue with that logic.”

She handed him the glasses and then sat herself down on the counter. It was easier to talk when she didn't have to look up so much. “Every room should have a ladder like your library.”

“That _would_ make it easier, wouldn't it?” He leaned back against the table. “I'll let you be the one to suggest it to your mother.”

“Because of your date?”

Blood rushed to his face. “N-no! But, er, while we're on the subject...You, uh...you're really ok with...with this whole...” He gestured about vaguely. “...this whole me-and-your-mom...thing?”

She tilted her head. “Well, yeah. Mom likes you.” Her heels bumped the cabinet doors as she gently swung them, her expression serious. “Hadley, who sits behind me, she says her mom and dad don't like each other anymore, and that's why they live in different houses. She says it's ok, cuz she gets two Christmases and stuff, but I dunno. I think it's better to like somebody than not.” She fixed him with a careful stare. “And you like Mom, right?”

The color in his cheeks deepened as their eyes locked and he nodded. “Very much so.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” She gave a little smile. “So we're good.”

“Huh.” Another smile (they were becoming alarmingly frequent these days) tugged at his lips and then the microwave pinged. He crossed back over to it, set the finished meal on the little kitchen table and popped the second meal in to cook. “Did you want to eat in here, or the dining room?” he asked, because it seemed like he should.

“There's a dining room?” Curiosity lit up her face.

“Y-yeah.” He now regretted even mentioning it. “I-I can show you. Out this way.”

Another set of stairs later and she was staring wide-eyed at the giant room. “Holy cow!” she exclaimed, and her voice echoed back to her off the walls. With a giggle she tried again, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Axl's a mouth-breather!” She dissolved into wicked laugher as the statement was shouted back at her. “This table's so big! If we brought up more chairs, we could have Christmas dinner here next year!”

“Ah–” Grinch didn't even have time to register the uneasy twisting in his stomach because the microwave was pinging back in the kitchen. Wordlessly, he spun on his heel to go back to the kitchen.

Cindy trailed after him. “The model town in the lab...was that for planning the whole thing?”

“What whole thing?”

“The whole 'stealing Christmas' thing.”

He went straight to the counter, gathered up the plates, utensils, napkins, handed them in a big pile to her. “Set the table, ok?”

“You didn't answer my question.” She pursed her lips, watched him pull the second meal from the microwave, balancing both in one arm, grabbing two more soda cans from the chillibrator. She decided to try again, with an easier one. “Did you build that sleigh downstairs?”

“Modified it.” His answer was curt as he marched past her back up the stairs.

“Where'd you get it from?” She hurried to keep up.

“Bricklebaum's.”

“You stole it?”

“Borrowed.” In the dining room, he set both meals and drinks at one end of the table and then strode over to drag Max's chair down to his end for her.

“But you didn't give it back.” She stood on tiptoe to put her armful onto the table.

“Well, no.”

“So that's stealing.”

“I could still give it back.” He grunted; the chair was heavier than he remembered.

“Will you?”

He sighed as he set the chair down again. “Probably not.”

“Mom says it's not nice to steal things.”

“Yeah, well, being nice wasn't exactly on my radar at that moment.”

She slipped her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie, walking slowly around the table to climb into the chair he'd just moved. “Does it fly?”

“What?” He took his usual seat at the head of the table.

“The sleigh. Does it fly?” She had to get up on her knees to reach her plate, but that was ok. He probably didn't have a phonebook and he definitely didn't have a booster seat.

“No,” he said slowly. He popped the tab on both of their sodas.

“So how'd you get it into town?”

“Max pulled it.”

“No way!”

“Way.” The canine had appeared beside his chair, looking like he was merely tolerating the girl taking his place and Grinch plucked a drumstick from his meal and offered it to the hound as an olive branch. “He's stronger then he looks.”

“But how'd you get onto the roofs?” She speared a piece of steamed green bean (better to get the yucky stuff out of the way first).

“Uh, I had a collapsible ladder...and smaller versions in my boots.”

Her mouth hung open for a moment before curling up into giant smile. “Can I try them??”

“Absolutely not.” He picked up his own fork, noticed her disheartened expression and added, “Maybe another time...out on a field or something. In a mattress store, maybe.”

She snickered at that. “What about the suit? Did you make that?”

He had a mouthful of food at that point, so he merely nodded.

“You sew? Mom tries, but her stitches always look like Frankenstein.”

“Frankenstein's monster you mean.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” He picked up a piece of chicken and tore into it.

She ate another forkful of green beans, logging the information away for when it came time for the school's Spring Play. “How'd you do it all so fast? You don't have magic like Santa.”

“You can do anything if you plan it properly.” He didn't mean to sound proud, but it came out in his tone nonetheless, and then a stab of shame hit him in the gut. Whether Cindy Lou was impressed by it or not, the heist was bar-none the worst thing he'd _ever_ done. In a life full of petty, passive-aggressive cruelties, that was the absolute low-point. He shrank a little in his chair, put his attention back on his plate.

“Did you go to _every_ house?”

“Mmhmm.” Another bite.

“What number was I?”

“Huh?”

“Our house.” She had her face turned down, focusing on cutting up her meatloaf, so he couldn't see her expression, but she didn't sound angry, only curious, which helped him answer when she asked, “Were we the first? Or, like, number one-hundred-and-sixty-seven, or...”

“O-oh. No, no, you, uh...your house was last.”

“Weawy?” She spoke around a mouthful, looking up at him in surprise.

He nodded, kept his own eyes on his meal.

She swallowed. “Did any other kids try to catch you? I bet TONS of them did.”

A short exhale, barely a laugh and tinged with relief, shot out of his nose. “No. No, only you, kid.” She bounced a little in her seat. He took another bite of his chicken, let it settle in his stomach before he continued, “And I've gotta say...that wasn't a bad snare you set up.”

Her blue eyes sparkled, and she drew herself up taller in her seat with a squeal of excitement. “Yeah?? We tested it _so_ many times, but I still wasn't sure it was gonna work. It was like the bowling-ball thing at the tree house – where you put the heavy thing on one end of the rope and it drops and lifts up the lighter thing at the other end?”

“A pulley, yeah.”

“That's what it's called? Cool, I didn't know it was, like, a _thing_. It was just...this thing we did that kinda worked. But we had no idea how much Santa weighed, so we just filled the heavy end with everything we could find.” She popped another fork-load of meat in her mouth. “It didn't give you whiplash or anything, did it? Mom said that's a thing that can happen when you move too fast.”

“Cind – I was making off with _all_ of your presents. Whether or not you knocked the wind out of me should be the least of your–”

“Did I?” she asked again, and the sincere worry in her eyes left him staggering. Did angels come that small?

“N-no.”

“Really?” She leaned over the table, eyes locked with his and he had to turn his away.

“It's nothing I didn't deserve.”

He could feel her eyes still on him, and he forced himself to look up again, let the wave of her goodness crash against his chest. Her face was so earnest, eyes shining in a way that threatened tears he was _not_ prepared to handle. But she kept her composure, and told him in a voice unwavering, “I'm sorry I did that.”

“ _I'm_ the one who's sorry.” And he meant it, just like he'd meant it Christmas morning.

She sat back down in her chair, looking thoughtfully around the room. “You know what?”

He waited.

She took a sip of her soda before saying, “I'm _glad_ you stole everything.”

“...what??” He let the masticated remains of his chicken tumble back to his plate, gaping at her.

“Mmhmm.” She nodded, ate another bite of meatloaf. “If you hadn't taken everything, you couldn't've brought it all back, and I never would've thought to go ask you to come to dinner, and–”

That dinner. That _first_ dinner. They'd sat in this same configuration then, he at the head of the table with her to his right. They'd shared a few dozen meals now, in her cramped eat-in kitchen, been alone like this as if it were natural and normal and mundane. He'd managed to earn their trust in a way he'd never imagined. If someone had told him back in November that by March he'd be sitting with an 8-year-old Who girl at his dining room table, a day before doing the same with her mother on an honest-to-god actual date, he'd have laughed in their face, and uproariously so.

Cindy was still talking, her voice breaking him out of his thoughts, “–then you never would've come, and then we wouldn't be friends, and that would totally suck.”

Another little exhale and he let his elbow rest on the table, his fist propping his chin up. “You've certainly got a way with words, kid.”

She grinned at him. “Well, it _would._ Wouldn't it?”

He found himself smiling back at her. “Yeah. It _totally_ would.” Her whole body shimmied as she did some sort of wiggling dance in her seat and went back to her food, and he just watched her for a moment. “I can't believe you hiked all the way up this mountain that day – dragging your sled, no less.”

“It's full of air.”

“Still.”

“It would've been easier – and faster – if I'd had your flying sleigh.”

“My sleigh doesn't fly.”

“Are you sure?"

"Yes."

“Could you make it fly?”

“Maybe.” The glint in her eyes made him just a little nervous and so he added, “But that doesn't mean I'd let you drive it. And I don't want you coming up here alone again. It's dangerous."

“Never?”

“Until you're eighteen. At least.”

She put a forkful of meatloaf in her mouth. “God, that's _forever_ from now.”

“Trust me kid,” he said, raising his meat up for another bite. “It goes by fast.”

* * *

Dinner was followed by dessert (Cindy had protested that the brownie that had come with her meal didn't really count) and then, when they were putting away their dishes, she spotted the bells on the kitchen wall and had asked to see the music room. Which was how he came to have the little girl in his lap again, this time in front of the pipe organ. “I didn't know you played music.”

“When you've got a lot of free time, you tend to collect hobbies like Whoball cards.”

She giggled, held out her index finger, pressed hard on one of the keys, and then jumped at the sound. “Holy smokes!”

He chuckled. “You can't just bang on 'em.” He rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms cracked his knuckles with his hands folded together over his head. “Any requests?”

She grinned up at him. “Jingle Bells?”

“Hardy har har.” His frown was a teasing one. “Try again.”

“Party In The Who-S-A!”

He rolled his eyes. “Ok, we clearly need some schooling in the classics.” He wiggled his fingers over the keys. “Hold on to your headband.”

She did so, beaming up at him, and he froze. He'd been 100% ready to blow her mind with the face-melting solo from Deep Purple's “Hush” but with her cherubic face turned his way that suddenly struck him as obnoxiously self-indulgent. A certain earworm that had been floating around in the back of his brain since Thursday night sprang to the forefront and he gave a half-smile. When his fingers came down on the keys, her smile broadened. “Hey! That's Dad's jingle!”

“So it is.” He finished the twenty-second melody and brought his hands back to his lap, but she was still sitting on it, so he just let them hang loosely at his sides.

“Did you have to practice that?”

“Huh?”

“To play it that good. Did you practice?”

“Uh...no, I...I've actually never played it before.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “Dad could do that too. Just, like, listen to a song and then play it. He just had a piano though.” She ran her small fingers lightly over the bottom row of keys, and her voice grew softer. “It used to be in the living room, but I think Mom had Uncle Irwin and Uncle Theo put it in the basement.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She leaned into him, resting her back against his stomach. “He was gonna teach me, but...”

He felt her little body shudder. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no what had he done? Why had he thought that was a good idea?? Stupid useless brain and stupid useless hands. Unthinking, he raised his right hand, placed it over hers, and pressed her index finger gently into one of the keys. “That's 'E'.” Together they pressed it three times, holding on the third note, and then repeated the sequence.

“Hey...” The recognition was clear in her voice.

He moved her hand over the keyboard, pressing one note at a time. “E...G...C...D E.”

Together, the two of them played the slowest, most rudimentary version of “Jingle Bells” either of them had ever heard, and by the time they got to the final 'C', Cindy Lou's smile had returned. “Do it again!”

And so they did. Over and over together until they picked up enough pace that Max could keep time with his drum set. After fifteen or so repetitions, she shook his hand away and did it herself, and he didn't mind. It was the happiest his organ had ever sounded.

* * *

“But I'm not tired!”

From the bedroom floor, Max's eyes followed the sunshine girl as she bounced up and down, up and down on Master's bed. The Who-pup was lucky – getting to sleep in Master's bed was a rare treat. Master was stoking the fire, warming to room. The sunshine girl didn't have as much fur and he or Master did; she was bound to get cold as the night wore on.

“Well, _I_ am,” Grinch said, down on one knee in from to the fireplace, iron poker in hand. “So settle down.”

“But I didn't brush my teeth!” Cindy protested. “And I don't have my pajamas.”

“Didn't think you'd need an overnight bag when I came down to get you this morning,” he said, a bit of a grumble slipping into his voice.

“Do _you_ have pajamas?”

He paused mid-poke, eye twitching at the thought of having to explain to the child that he usually slept in his underwear. He shook his head. “Your clothes are fine. All you kids ever wear are leggings and t-shirts – that's basically pajamas anyway.”

She stopped bouncing, glanced down at her outfit – sure enough, pink striped leggings and a cotton long-sleeve tee with a unicorn in a spacesuit on the front. “Huh. Yeah, that's a good point.”

Satisfied that the fire was burning nicely, he put the poker back where it belonged and stood. “Still, I probably have a spare toothbrush. C'mon.”

* * *

The bathroom was just as high-ceilinged as the dining room, and Cindy found herself craning her neck as she brushed her teeth. Grinch's hand came down on the back of her head and turned her eyes back to the mirror. “You're gonna choke yourself doing that.”

Even standing on the overturned wastebasket he'd provided, she had to get up on tip-toe to spit into the sink. “How do you get water?”

“What?”

“Like, for the sinks and the bathtub and stuff.” She pointed with her toothbrush. “I don't think the town's plumbing reaches all the way up here.”

“Ah. No, no, that would cost a fortune.” He folded his hands behind his back. “I've got a system that collects the rainwater from the top of the mountain. And the snow in the winter. There's a tank that heats it when I need it.”

“And you, like, did all the pipes and stuff?”

“Mmhmm.”

She filled her cup from the tap, rinsed, and spit again. “Wow.”

“It's not that impressive.”

“What??? It's _totally_ awesome! We can't even get a rain barrel set up for our garden out back.” The little girl laid her toothbrush down on the counter and hopped back to the floor.

“I could help with that.”

“Yeah? You'd probably hafta do all the planting and stuff too. Mom and I buy the little plants, but then they just end up dying on the back porch.” She moved towards the stairs (always stairs in this place!) and then stopped. “Um...”

“What?” But she didn't have to answer – the little, wiggly dance she was doing spoke loudly enough. “O-oh, right.” Cheeks warm, he pointed in the direction of the toilet. “I'll just, um, I'll be in the bedroom.”

“Kay.” Her braids bobbed as she nodded and he quickly left the room.

* * *

When she returned to the bedroom, she found him seated in the big red chair, holding the 'space flight' pamphlet. He waved it in her direction. “Ready for some lite reading?”

Beaming, she clambered up into his lap for the third or fourth time that day, snuggling in against his fur. She'd thought it odd at first, that he didn't seem to wear clothes like everyone else she new, but she'd decided that with as much fur as he had, he didn't really need too. Plus, if he was wearing a shirt right now, it wouldn't be anywhere near as soft or as warm as this.

Even after three months it was still a strange feeling – her little body so close to his. He was happy to notice it was getting gradually _less_ strange the more it happened though. Maybe someday it would be merely normal, commonplace enough that his shoulders wouldn't stiffen each time. He forced them to relax, and cracked open the little book.

He'd barely gotten halfway through when he felt her weight inexplicably double and he glanced down. Her head was lolling, and he could hear her quiet, slow breathing. He glanced at the clock and did a double-take. 10 PM! And she'd run practically _everywhere_ they'd gone today. No wonder she was exhausted. It seemed like she'd just needed to sit still long enough for her body to realize it.

Carefully, he set the book down on the little end table, and gathered her up into his arms. It was incredible how much heavier she felt when she wasn't supporting her own weight. It actually took him two tries to get to his feet. When he staggered a bit, Max gave him a sidelong look. “Oh hush. Pull back the covers, will you?”

The canine did as he was told, tugging the red, woolen blanket with his teeth until there was room for Grinch to lay the little girl down. It wasn't as easy to be delicate like he did with the twins (though with those two he always felt like he was handling a land mine when he put them in their cribs), but he did his best and she didn't stir when he pulled his hands away. He laid the blanket over top of her, and then removed her headband, sitting it on the nightstand.

He straightened up, pride filling his chest. He'd done it. Kept her safe, gotten her fed, made her happy, and now she was asleep. In the morning he'd get her home and he could log this away as an interesting (if not trying) experience. He gestured to Max with one hand. “C'mon, boy. Let's go make some tea.”

He hadn't even gotten to the first stair when he heard her, voice thick with sleep and _something_ else. “Mr. Grinch...?” He turned back to find her sitting up, one hand on her stomach. “I don't feel so g–” The rest of her statement was lost – as were his hopes for a quiet evening to regroup – as she emptied the contents of her stomach all over his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big BIG thank you to Humanities_Handbag for helping me work through the writer's block that delayed this chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which bonding happens over a babysitting trial-by-fire.

“Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.” Instinctively, Grinch hurried back to the side of the bed, but stopped short, fighting back his gag reflex. Everything – the blanket, the sheets, her clothes – was covered in vomit. A bit of it clung to her chin, which she wiped away with the back of her sleeve, and he put a hand over his mouth, willing his stomach to stop clenching. “Are you...are you done?” he managed, hand still over his face. Good god the smell.

Cindy Lou blinked, coughed, sniffled. “Um...I think so.” Her throat felt raw and her stomach was sore, but the nausea had passed, at least for the moment. She was sticky and wet and when she looked up at him, her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes brimming with tears. “I'm sorry.”

That look, those words, were enough to break him out of his paralysis. “N-no, Cindy, i-i-it's all right.” He reached out to her, then drew back his hands. Where did he even start? “Not like you did it on purpose. Probably all that junk food.” Which _he'd_ let her have. Idiot. “Um...ok...Max, go get a trash bag.” The pup nodded and hurried off on his mission.

Cindy sniffed again. “You're gonna...throw everything out?”

He almost said 'yes', but she looked so concerned that he shook his head. “No, of course not. We'll wash it. And you, I think.” His hands hovered over her, fingers stretching out and then curling in, over and over. “Let's um...let's get you out of these wet things, ok? Can, um, can you help me?” She nodded and began slipping her arms out of her sleeves. He forced his hands to cooperate in getting her collar up and over her head, managing to avoid touching any of the mess as he tossed it on top of his soiled blanket. With the shirt gone, he could see her pants hadn't been spared. He turned towards the stairs, hollering, “Max! Bring a towel too!”

A distant bark echoed in response, and a moment later the dog reappeared, dragging a trash bag that didn't look empty. Grinch almost scolded him, until he realized it contained not only the towel he'd requested, but his elbow-length rubber gloves from the kitchen. “Good boy.” He gave the mutt a scratch behind the ears. “Ok, kiddo.” He slipped the gloves on and then held up the towel outstretched between himself and the little girl. “You just, um, get those pants off and we'll get you cleaned up.”

Cheeks warm, she did as he asked, thankful that he was pretending to be really interested in the ceiling. As soon as she'd peeled the leggings off, she grabbed the towel from him, drawing it around her shoulders and climbing down off of the bed.

Max circled around her, but Grinch shooed him away. “Find her something to wear and meet us back in the bathroom.”

“Arf?”

“I _know_ I don't have a lot of – look, I don't care what it is, as long as it's clothing, ok? Work with me here.”

“Arf! Arf!” The dog set off on his new quest and Grinch let out a sigh.

“...I'm sorry,” came Cindy Lou's soft voice from her spot beside him.

“Don't be.” He patted her shoulder. “C'mon. I bet you'd like to brush your teeth again.”

“Mmhmm.”

* * *

Cindy held the towel around herself like a cloak with one hand, shivering a little as she brushed her teeth with the too-big toothbrush. Hovering behind her, Grinch twisted his fingers, glanced over his shoulder. What was taking Max so long? He looked at her again, noticed with a clench of his stomach that some of her blonde hair was clumped together. He grimaced, then strode over to the linen cupboard, pulling out a washcloth and another towel. While she watched, mildly curious, he leaned past her to turn on the hot water tap, soak the washcloth. She rinsed, spat. He wrung out the washcloth, then used it to gather up the soiled part of her hair, massaging away the mess. It took him a few tries, but she stayed still as he worked until her hair was clean. Then he tossed the washcloth in the hamper and brought the towel up to her head. “That's, um, better, right?”

She nodded, warmth flooding her body despite the cold room. He wasn't Mom, that was for sure, but still... She watched him in the mirror (she was a little too short to see herself). He wasn't smiling but he didn't look mad, just worried. Mom worried a lot too. It wasn't like she _meant_ to make grown-ups worry, but Mom said that's just what parents do – worry about their kids. _“Does that mean that, like, The Grinch is gonna be your new dad?”_ Ozzy's question from Friday floated to the front of her brain and she blinked. She hadn't given it a lot of thought, really, but doing so now was making her chest feel funny. The kind of funny she always felt when they were ending a visit with Gram and Pops – sad to leave but happy to go home. It was an odd moment to have such an odd feeling, but she was too tired to think on it too hard. “You never had to do this before.”

“Hmm?” He paused in toweling dry her hair.

“I mean, nobody ever got sick when you were babysitting before.”

“No.” He gave a conciliatory shrug. “But our luck was bound to run out sometime.”

“Wish it had been one of the boys instead.”

She'd clearly meant it in jest, trying to cut through the fog of awkwardness than hung over both of them, and his heart lurched. “Me too, kiddo. Then this would be Mrs. Marpole's problem.”

He was playing along, joking with her. She started to smile but then her stomach did a violent flip. With horror, he watched as her expression changed drastically and it was all he could do to hold back her still-damp hair as she hunched over the sink bowl and vomited again. He cringed, trying not to listen as the sound alone was threatening to make him lose his own dinner. The amount of respect he had for Donna doubled. How did people actively _choose_ this life? Of diapers and upset stomachs and all manner of filthy, disgusting–

She coughed a few times, spat, and then let out a pitiable whimper that cleared every negative thought from his mind in an instant. Still holding her hair, he rubbed her back with his free hand. “Guess we didn't get it all out last time.”

She spat again, and fumbled for her water cup while still holding onto her towel.

“H-hang on, lemme get that.” He filled the cup with cold water and brought it to her lips.

Gratefully she sipped, rinsed, and spat yet again. “Thank you.” Her voice was quiet and croaky.

Not really feeling like he deserved it, he just put the cup down and brushed her hair away from her face. The sound of paws on the stone floor caught his ear and he turned to see his dog dragging something distinctly red and white in his teeth. Grinch's stomach went cold, sweat springing up in his palms. When he spoke, it was in a strained half-growl, half-whisper. “That better not be what I think it is.”

Max trotted up and set the Santa suit at his master's feet.

“For the love of God...” His words and his hands shook as he stooped down to pick it up. He hadn't even looked at the thing in three months – he'd hurled it off the ledge in his bedroom Christmas day and assumed that was that. But no, here it was in his hands, looking a barely worse for the wear. He ran a thumb over a pull in the fabric (probably from that damn cat), trying to will the room to stop swaying, to will the air back into his lungs.

“Hey, is that...?”

He sucked in a breath, chest stinging and glanced down to see Cindy eyeing the garment. “I-i-i-i-i-it's nothing.” He drew his hands, and the suit, up to his chest, as if he could somehow hide the garishly bright thing.

“Nuh-uh,” she said, one hand slipping out from the towel to point. “It's–”

“ –the only thing we've got for you to wear in the _entire_ cave, apparently,” he cut her off, giving Max a glare. The dog gave a little shrug and thumped his tail on the floor.

She gave a tiny, tired smirk. “I think it's too big.”

“Yeah.” He lowered his hands, fingers digging into the fabric. “But I think I can fix that.” A few steps back to the linen cupboard and he had his sewing kit in his hands. Cindy watched him sit on the closed lid of the toilet and unzip it, pulling out scissors.

“W-wait, you're not gonna–”

But he'd already cut half the length off of one sleeve, was moving on to the other. He lopped three or four inches off the bottom. With a seam-ripper (and maybe a little too much enthusiasm) he removed the pom-poms that ran down the front and the fur from around the collar. His chest feeling less tight, put the tools away and shook out the fabric, holding up what now looked like a simple red nightgown. “There. Much better.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Why'd you do that?”

He stood and held it out to her. “You needed it. I didn't.”

“But, but it was your–”

“And I never wanted to see it again. Now I don't have to. C'mon now, see if it fits.”

She watched as he turned his body away from hers, the ceiling once again fascinating. She let the towel fall away and took the butchered Santa suit. The material was soft, just like she remembered. As she slipped it over her head, for a second she went back to Christmas Eve, to a quiet moment on the stairs when she'd given 'Santa' a hug. She hadn't noticed then, but thinking back she could remember how he'd gone stiff, had lightly patted her back, as if he didn't know _how_ to hug properly. Maybe he hadn't. She wiggled her arms into the sleeves and then flung them around his middle. “It fits.”

He shifted his weight to not lose his balance, looking down at her, at how the fabric pooled around her feet and over the edge of the step-stool. The chop job had helped – it looked less like its former self – but he still wished he'd tossed it in the fireplace. “It's a little long. I should hem it.”

She didn't let go, pressed her cheek into his fur. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

His face, etched with anxiety, softened as he brought his hands down to grasp her under the arms and hoist her up, chest against chest, arms round his neck as he sat her in the crook of one arm. “Absolutely.” He moved in the direction of the bedroom. “Max, grab a bucket, will you?”

The mutt obliged, and dragged a plastic pail (generally used for cleaning) by the handle up the stairs after them.

* * *

Cindy Lou sat curled up in his big red chair, watching him put new sheets on the bed. “I'm so sorry.”

“I told you, don't be.” He pulled a clean, thick blanket down from the top shelf of his wardrobe. “Just try to get some rest, ok?”

She slid down off the chair, held her new nightgown up so she wouldn't trip over it, and crossed to the bed. “Are you...um, I mean...where are you going?”

He pulled back the newly laid-out covers and looked down at her. Her eyes were ringed and red and shining and something deep inside pulled and he said, “Nowhere.”

With a tired smile she crawled into the bed. Sensing an opportunity, Max scrabbled up as well, curling himself into a ball at the foot.

Grinch watched her settle in, then moved to angle the red chair towards the bed, reposition the footrest. It wasn't until he had turned to settle in that he realized with a start that she'd gotten back out of bed, was standing beside him. “What're you–?”

“Can I sit with you?” she asked, twisting her tiny fingers, eyes on the floor.

“But don't you want to–?”

“Please?” She raised her face to him. “Just for a little bit?”

His chest pulled again, stronger this time, and he nodded as he sat “S-sure.”

As she climbed up into the chair, he marveled at how quickly and drastically his life had changed. Three months ago she'd been just another ankle-biting urchin, crashing into him on the street. Now she was snuggling into his lap, blonde hair resting comfortably next to green fur. He let one hand rest on her back, the other on the armrest, long fingers anxiously drumming.

The fire lit the room, but only so much, the warm orange glow giving way to vast, blue-black emptiness just beyond where they sat. Even in the dark, her home glowed, surrounded by streetlights and neighbors' porch lights, a part of a whole, instead of apart from everything. Half-shadowed, his picture frames looked even more ominous than usual – stormy skies and empty landscapes and cross-stitched words that he'd thought were funny but now just made his stomach turn.

Everything echoed – the wood crackling in the fireplace, the occasional drip from a stalactite, his fingertips tapping without rhythm on the upholstery. His own heartbeat felt so loud it might as well be echoing.

Good god, he was blowing this.

“Mr. Grinch...?”

Seriously. _**Blowing**_ it. No one in the history of blowing it had ever blown babysitting to the absolute _epic_ proportions as he was currently blowing it.

“Mr. Grinch?”

And tomorrow – maybe today? What the hell time was it?? - he'd blow the date too. Because of course he would. The King of Blowing It. His whole existence was just one continuous stream of ' _I blew it_ 's. He'd die alone and have no one to blame but–

“Mr. Grinch?”

He was being poked and he blinked, shaken out of his introspection. “Th-thought you were asleep.”

Cindy Lou shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Mm-mm.”

“What's up?”

“I...” She kept her face turned away, her cheek pressed into his stomach. “I know this, this sucks but...but I'm glad it wasn't Mrs. Marpole's problem.”

The pulling, the warmth, was back in his chest. “Huh?”

Her little hand latched onto his fur. “I mean, she's nice an' all, but...but I'd rather be here with you.”

His cheeks felt hot. “Cind, if you'd been home, you wouldn't even be sick. Mrs. Marpole knows better than to stuff you full of processed junk food and–”

“Dad gave Bean a bottle of mom's milk that had been sitting on the counter all day,” she said. “He threw it all right back up, all over Dad.”

Grinch pulled a face. “You don't say.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well...glad to know we're equally hapless.”

“Hapless?”

“Inept.”

“What?”

“Bad at this.”

A soft, tiny giggle floated up. “You're not bad at this.”

“I beg to differ.”

“No...you're fun. And comfy.”

He snorted, smiled. “That's something, I guess.”

For a long moment she was quiet, and he was just starting to wonder if she'd dozed off when, “...Mr. Grinch?”

“Hmm?”

“How come...how come you wanted to steal Christmas anyway?”

“Ah–” His jaw fell slack, the drumming of his fingers upped the tempo, the fur at the back of his neck stood on end.

“I know you said you hated being alone,” she continued. Her index finger drew tiny circles in the fur on his stomach. “But...how would stealing Christmas help?”

The hand that wasn't on her back had fisted, knuckles white and he forced his fingers to unclench with a breath. “It...it wouldn't.” The words were strained but he pushed them out anyway. “It didn't.”

“Then how come...?”

His too-big heart was pounding, aching in his chest. At the foot of the bed, Max lifted his head up, concerned. Grinch raised a hand, telling him to stay put, but the mutt hurried over anyway, laying his head down across his master's legs. “I...” He'd been trying to _**not**_ think about it for months. “I...” Trying to bury it with projects and babysitting and surprising new feelings that were so much more pleasant, though, no matter how pleasant, never really covered up the terrible ache.

But she was asking.

And trusting.

And Family.

“I was being selfish,” he said at last.. “I wanted...what you all had. But I didn't know how to get it.” He brought a hand up to her hair, stroking absently. “And that, that hurt. A lot. For a long time. So I...I thought if I could just... _take_ it, if I could make everyone else hurt as much as I did, then maybe my hurt wouldn't feel so...big.” The room went blurry around the edges and when he blinked he felt wetness on his cheeks and he raised a hand to swipe at it, sniffing. Stupid. All of it. Out loud it was so pathetic, so childish, how could he ever expect her to–

And then Cindy Lou was shifting, sitting up, wrapping her little arms around his chest, pressing her ear to the furious drumbeat of his heart and saying, “I'm so sorry.”

He sniffed again, let himself return the embrace, long arms enveloping this tiny, perfect creature he never knew he needed in his life. “Forget it, kid. Seriously.”

“But–”

“I mean it.” He wished his voice wasn't so thick with emotion, more convincingly strong. “Forget it. It's...you know, water and bridges and all that. You just worry about getting some sleep. Ok?”

But she didn't let go and neither did he, notuntil her weight doubled again, and he carried her to bed and headed downstairs for the rest of the long, lonely night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Humanities_Handbag for the help in polishing up this chapter!
> 
> Up next - Date Night!! XD


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Monday arrives, a widow muses, and the countdown begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my 3-year-old daughter wanted to watch the movie this morning - because it's July 4th, lol - and it got me thinking I should dust off this fic and get back to work on it. I've been sitting on this chapter for MONTHS because it felt too short, but also it felt done so...here it is. Short, sweet, moving things along.

Donna Jo Who woke up Monday morning to soft pink-orange sunlight and a house with one fewer child in it than usual. She rolled over in bed, listening for any of the tell-tale signs that the twins were awake, but heard only quiet. The clock read 6:49 AM and she smiled. They'd slept in. They did it once in a blue moon and usually only when she had somewhere to be early in the morning, so this was a rare treat. She nuzzled further into her pillow, enjoying the softness and familiar smells of the well-worn sheets. Lilac shampoo and Whoson & Whoson baby wash and hospital grade hand sanitizer and–

Paper and ink.

She shut her eyes.

Buried under everything else it was still there.

Lou always insisted on composing on paper, even when everyone else in the business was switching to computers. _“I can't feel it when I'm just pushing buttons,”_ he'd said. And the house was his office, so naturally the paper just piled up everywhere. It was one of her biggest pet peeves.

Or it had been.

Before.

Of all the horrible, heartbreaking things she'd had to do, packing away all that paper had been the one that bested her. In the end her parents, her sister and brother and their spouses had all just shown up one afternoon, a few months after the funeral. They ordered pizza, played with Cindy, took the boys for a walk and let her nap. When she woke up, it was done.

It was startling, how open the house looked with the flat surfaces cleared. She'd been thankful, made sure they all knew it. But on and off for weeks she'd come home from work, run her hands over bare counter tops and cried.

Because he'd never clutter her spaces again. Never chide her for spilling coffee on his latest 'masterpiece'. Never drive her batty scouring the house for that one elusive sheet of music that had just the right the melody he needed for his project. Never–

Her cellphone pinged and she started, arm stretching out to the nightstand automatically. A text message from her mother. [Can't wait to see those sweet faces today! What time did you want us there by? :)]

' _Right.'_ She tapped out a quick reply and let the phone fall softly onto the mattress.

She was going out tonight.

On a date.

With the Grinch.

She buried into the pillow a little deeper, breathed in paper and ink and tried to hear him. Her first love, her high school sweetheart, the father of her children. They'd never talked about this. They were in their mid-thirties, paying the bills and raising babies. The 'what will you do if I'm gone' conversation had been the furthest thing from their minds. She had no idea what he would've said.

Only she did. Because she knew him. Had known him since they were twelve. They'd been one of those couples that annoyed everyone at parties by finishing each other's sentences. He'd supported her all through nursing school, equally supported her wanting to take the full allotment of her maternity leave with both Cindy and the twins. _“You've gotta take care of you,”_ he'd told her, over and over again. _“Without that, how can you expect to take care of anyone else?”_

She couldn't recall the last time she'd done anything _just_ for herself. With three mouths to feed, who had time for a trip to the spa (she had gift cards from patients collecting dust in a drawer) or even just read a book (that wasn't about talking animals or wizard schools)? Tonight would be the first time in two years that she'd gone and done something on her own, without the kids, that wasn't work.

Jesus, was it really that long?

_“_ _You've gotta take care of you.”_ She could see Lou's face behind her eyelids, and though his age fluctuated, his smile stayed the same. It wasn't a blessing, exactly, but it was enough. Cindy Lou was right. Even if it all felt a little strange, that was better than lonely. And heaven knows she'd had her fill of loneliness. Feeling guilty was natural, but she could push past it. She could let herself be happy.

...Right?

She rolled onto her back, a new face appearing in her mind's eye. Green eyes and a shy smile that only halfway hid the scars on a heart with an untapped capacity for love. Cindy Lou had been the one to crack his armor and she'd never been more proud of her daughter, or more thankful.

She brought a hand up to her lips. He was inexperienced, unsure of himself, but the passion behind all that insecurity was undeniable. And not at all surprising, given how long he'd pent it all up. How much deeper did the well go? Her face felt warm beneath her hand.

Her cell phone chimed again, this time sounding her 7 AM alarm. With a soft groan, she pushed herself up. Time to start the day.

Wake the boys.

Change diapers.

Feed them.

Change them again.

Feed them again.

Make sure there was enough food in the house for her parents.

Break up a fight over a household object that was definitely NOT a baby toy.

Feed them again.

Straighten up so her mother didn't try to clean while she was there.

Answer a work text.

Change another diaper.

Answer another text from her mother.

Make sure everything her parents might possibly need to know was written down.

Feed the boys again.

Change diapers again.

Put them down for their morning nap.

Realize she hasn't actually eaten yet.

Inhale a protein bar while washing the breakfast dishes.

Shower.

Remember to not let her hair sit twisted up in the towel for too long before blow-drying.

Clean something else that wasn't noisy, so as not to wake the boys.

Cringe as the doorbell rings.

Stomp to the door, ready to give the inconsiderate jerk a piece of her mind.

“Hi Mom!”

Donna did a double take, blinking at her daughter and her date standing on the front step.

Grinch cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck. “S-sorry, she didn't have a key.” He looked bedraggled, like he'd been up all night and then dug his way through a mountain of mud.

“Oh, no, that's all ri – Cindy Lou, _what_ are you wearing?”

The little girl gave a spin. The pink, strapless dress read 'Go Time' across the back. “Mr. Grinch made it for me!”

Donna stepped back to let them in the house, one eyebrow raised. “Ok...?”

“We, ah...had kind of a rough night,” Grinch muttered, cheeks pink.

She turned his way. “Oh?”

He shrank back a little, twisting his fingers. He could've just sucked it up and washed her clothes, but even going near that trash bag had had him gagging. So it was the gym shorts or nothing. Except, _not_ , because after it was done he'd remembered the curtains in the kitchen, and the cover for the sleigh, and any other number of more suitable materials with which to construct children's clothing, but by then it was too late. “She, um, she kind of got...um, sick last night.”

“What??”

“It's cool, Mom,” Cindy said. “I ate too many snacks and threw up.”

Donna put a hand on her hip. “That's decidedly _un_ cool, Cynthia Louise.”

Grinch blinked, his own overwhelming guilt forgotten momentarily as he logged the new information away. Not just the full name, but the effect it had on the little girl. Instantly she stopped spinning, hands clasped behind her back, head tucked low. “But–”

Her mother held up a hand. “Ah ah! What did I tell you last night on the phone?”

Cindy scuffed her shoe on the floor. “...to not pig out.”

“Yeah.”

The smaller of the two blonde heads gave a small nod. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize to _me_ ,” Donna said, gesturing at the green-furred Who beside her.

“Oh, n-n-no.” Grinch held up both hands, palms out. “She doesn't need to – and she already did, a bunch of times, actually – but seriously, it's um, it's alright.”

Cindy's face brightened and Donna's softened. “Well _I'm_ sorry,” she said. “I know last night wasn't what you signed up for at _all._ ”

“It...” His eyes darted from one angelic face to the other. Jesus, could these women be any sweeter if they tried? Was it in their DNA? He rubbed the back of his neck again, feeling heat creep up anew. “No...it wasn't. But I...I'd do it again.” The little gasp Cindy let out made him smirk. “Though maybe with healthier snacks on hand.”

The girl bounced once, twice, and then sprang up to hug him around the middle. “Yes! Yes! Yes! How 'bout next Saturday???”

“Cindy...” Donna chided, though her own smile was fighting to break through.

“W-w-w-we'll see about that.” Grinch was surprised that, in amongst all the trepidation and anxiety, there was a kernel of hopeful excitement tucked deep down in his chest at the prospect of another sleepover.

Donna reached out and put both hands on Cindy's shoulders, easing her back down to the floor. “Thank you,” she said, bringing her eyes up to his face. “I know she's a handful.”

He shook his head. “It was fun. Before all the vomit, I mean.”

She let out a short laugh. “Right.”

They stood there for a long moment, two adults smiling at each other over a child's head in what should have been an awkward silence but was rather comfortable instead. Cindy glanced between them and that same funny feeling from last night settled in her chest. “Mom, I'm hungry.”

Donna tore her eyes away from his and brought her attention back to her daughter. “We'll wake the boys up for lunch soon. Why don't you grab something from the fruit bowl in the meantime.”

“Kay.” Cindy moved in the direction of the kitchen. “Bye, Mr. Grinch! Thanks for the new dress! And, ya know, cleaning up all the barf and stuff.”

“No...no problem.” He waved after her, his stomach twisting, smile faltering.

“Well,” Donna said, her own smile now more teasing. “Tonight should be a cakewalk in comparison, huh?”

“Huh?” He blinked at her, and it took a few seconds for the circuits to properly connect themselves in his brain. “Oh! Right, right...well, I mean...Jesus, what time is it?” Had she just mentioned lunch? Was it already that late?? “Sh-” He stopped himself mid-swear. “I gotta, I gotta go. But I'll, um, I'll see you later, I guess? I-I-I mean I _will._ What time did we say again...?”

She bit her bottom lip, giggling. “I don't think we did. But my folks will be here by five. So anytime after that. How about six?”

“Six.” He swallowed. “Ok. Yeah. Ok. Six.” He turned, moved towards the porch steps, then stopped and twisted back around. She was watching him, her smile bemused, her blue eyes dancing, and he was struck by a sudden and uncontrollable urge. In two long strides he closed the distance between them, caught hold of her by the shoulders and brought his mouth crashing down on hers.

One sweet, salted-caramel moment later he released her, ears ringing, shocked to see she looked exactly the way he felt – thunderstruck. She let out a short, breathy laugh. “What was that for?”

“Just...just for you.” Beyond them something fell from the counter followed by an 'oops'. “Seriously. I'll, um, I'll see you at six.”

“Ok.” With a wider smile, she waved him off and then lingered in the doorway, watching his retreating form when she really should've been investigating what that 'oops' had been about.


End file.
